


Jason Todd Comes Home (and proceeds to turn everything upside down)

by badlifechoices



Series: Coming Home [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bruce Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne Being an Idiot, Bruce Wayne Has Mental Health Issues, Bruce killed the joker, Cigarettes, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Being an Idiot, Jason Todd Has Mental Health Issues, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd has Anxiety, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Starvation, More tags to be added as this continues, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious Jason Todd, Past Character Death, Pining, Post Batman V Superman, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, but - Freeform, but nothing explicit, coming home, maybe idk if this is already considered slow burn, some Slade/Jason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2020-10-05 01:30:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20480720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badlifechoices/pseuds/badlifechoices
Summary: Follows "Stay the Night". Post Batman v. Superman - a universe in which Batman killed the Joker after Jason's murder. || Jason finds his way home and Bruce asks him to stay. It's not easy to find his place in a home he thought lost forever. On top of that Jason has had more than just platonic feelings for his old mentor for a long time that are seemingly unrequited. Maybe it's better if he just leaves and disappears for good this time. Or maybe, just maybe things can work out somehow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Bottom!Jay Challenge on tumblr: https://bottomjaychallenge.tumblr.com/ but it turned into something waay longer so I'm throwing the first chapter in as my entry. 
> 
> I always thought that Bruce seemed a lot darker and way more violent than usual in the Batman vs. Superman movie, considering he blows up buildings and makes people shoot each other with lethal weapons and there's no way he can claim he doesn't kill. So I figured maybe this is the kind of Batman that kills the Joker in revenge for Jason's death. 
> 
> This Jason is avenged but still broken and he's been in love with Bruce ever since he was Robin. So I wanted to try and see what kind of dynamic the two would develop if they teamed up again.

It’s raining. Jason can’t say he’s surprised, if Gotham is famous for one thing apart from its unusually high percentage of supervillains it’s probably it’s notoriously bad weather. Strangely enough he finds himself thinking that he’s missed it. Not only the always present darkness of the clouds looming above the skyscrapers. What gets him every time he sets foot into what used to be his turf long ago is the city itself. Its pulse beating at an irregular pace, the sound of sirens, of cars speeding along ever busy streets. It’s the way people are hurrying past him, their gaze cast downward although or maybe because they might catch a glimpse of the bat symbol cast against the night sky. Gotham hasn’t changed, not in a meaningful way at least. It’s still the same streets that fill his chest with an ache that won’t pass no matter how long he stays away. It’s the same corners that lure him deeper, the sloping rooftops. It doesn’t feel like years have passed since he truly belonged to this city, feels like only yesterday he was just a boy full of ambition and anger perched next to his favourite gargoyle waiting for the sign to jump into action.

The city might not have changed but he has. He doesn’t feel the same rush of adrenaline surging through his veins when he flings himself off the roof, only grapple and line to save him from plummeting down thirty stories and becoming just another smear on the dirty sidewalk. He doesn’t feel the same disappointment when he looks up to find that there’s no glowing bat painted against the clouds, no call for the city’s hero. His heart doesn’t beat to the same rhythm as Gotham does anymore. But he’s not here to revisit old memories, to hunt down the nostalgia lingering at the edge of his brain. At least not this part of it.

He doesn’t need to wonder about the state the city is in. How it still functions even though it has been mere weeks since it has seen a fight between two of the world’s most famous heroes and then the appearance of an even greater threat. The people are just too used to clowns with painted faces, to monsters appearing out of nowhere and wreaking havoc. Too used to their fates being left for others, more powerful forces, to decide. If at all Jason regrets that he didn’t come sooner. Sure, he doubts he would’ve been much of a help in the fight against Luthor’s temporary pet monster, against Superman himself. After all he’s nothing but an ex-sidekick. A vigilante who’s never been good enough to truly matter, nothing but a shadow of the great Batman who’s been lucky enough to be part of his world for a while. Bruce didn’t ask for him to come. They’re very similar in this way. But hell, even if Bruce had swallowed his pride enough to actually ask for help, he wouldn’t have known how to contact him. Because Bruce Wayne might be a master at the art of keeping tabs on people, but Jason learnt from the best and he dares to claim that his disappearance game is effective enough to even fool the bat.

And who is he fooling, if Bruce would ask for him to come, Jason would be there in a heartbeat. It doesn’t mean that he’s not angry or _hurt_ anymore. At this point the pain has become such an integral part of his being, he’s pretty sure he would fall apart without it. But he’s not angry at Bruce. There’s just no point in being angry at the one person he would burn the world for, no matter how unreciprocated the feeling might be. But Bruce didn’t ask, be it because he was too proud to or because he simply couldn’t find a way to contact him, and Jason only saw the news about the attack on Gotham city when it was already too late. Even with his connections it took him days to get back from his hideout in the vastness of Siberia back to the US.

And now here he is, the gravel of the driveway crunching under the wheels of his bike as he slows to a halt just in front of the large door. Like everything else in this place, Wayne Manor hasn’t changed one bit since he last saw it. He’s not sure what he expected, not sure why the sight of the flowers on the windowsills makes his chest constrict. Alfred has always been unrivalled when it came to keeping up appearances. He wonders why his limbs move so slowly as he hikes up the stairs, his helmet clutched under one arm. There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t seem to swallow, a part of his brain telling him to just turn around and leave because he might not be a welcome guest. He thought about just breaking into the manor, maybe dropping right into the Batcave because he _can_ and because Bruce wouldn’t expect anything else from him.

He rings the doorbell. Taking a step back his eyes stay glued to his feet, analysing the mud stains on his boots and what they might spell out for someone schooled in the art of observation. Only when the door creaks open does he dare to drag his gaze up again. Alfred looks older. He’s always been old, as far as Jason can remember in any case but now he looks more exhausted, tired. Jason wonders if Bruce will have the same lines carved into his face, if the events have settled as heavily on his shoulders as they have on his trusty butler’s. And yet, at the same time as he feels a strange worry invade his chest, he can feel some of the tension drain away from him. The place might not feel like home anymore but there’s something about Alfred’s presence that smooths out the anxiety spiking in his head. He cracks a smile, forcing his lips to stretch in a way they haven’t in a long while. “Hey Al.”

It’s hard to decipher the emotions behind the butler’s expression but the corners of his lips twitch and Jason could swear he sees some of those lines smooth out. Relief maybe, to see him safe after everything that has happened, to see him come home after such a long time. “It is good to see you, Master Jason.” The door is open and Alfred steps aside, ushering him inside with nothing but a gesture of his hand.

Jason waves it off, feeling a warmth creep into his heart. “Just Jason, please Al, I’ve been telling you for years.”

“And I’ve been telling you to take off your muddy shoes before you drag them all over the clean floors, Master Jason.” The older man replies with a pointed look at his boots and Jason feels himself duck his head sheepishly. An instinct, never quite lost and the familiarity of the situation forms a lump in his throat, as he hurries to peel off his boots. It’s true, there’s mud from god knows how many places around the world sticking to them. At this point they’re more dirt brown than black. He hasn’t even realised it, too used to hiding in crappy motel rooms and abandoned warehouses to care about the footprints he's leaving behind.

It’s awkward. Jason doesn’t know whether to hug him or to go for a handshake. In the end his insecurity wins over and he simply pushes his hands into his pockets, abandoning the rigid posture and relaxing his shoulders instead.

“Will you be staying this time?”

And Jason has no idea what to reply to that. No, his mind supplies, there’s no way he can stay here with the weight of the memories bearing heavily onto his shoulders. A part of him longs to stay, to be able to call this place home once more and it’s the same part that has made him return in the first place. “I don’t know.” He finally mutters through his tight throat, swallowing heavily as his gaze wanders past the butler to roam over the oh so familiar interior of the entrance hall. Nothing has changed, really. It’s like he’s been here just days ago. The same paintings, the same artful vases that he’s always found too tacky to have a place in Bruce’s home. And not a single speck of dust in sight. How Alfred manages to keep the place so clean without superpowers of his own is beyond him. “You still got some spare clothes that fit me?”

As if he waited for that question, Alfred gives him a look that speaks volumes. “Of course, Master Jason. If you will search the wardrobe in your old room I am sure you will find something to suit your needs.” He knew that Jason would be back. Or maybe he was just hoping that he would. In any case Jason finds his lips split into a grin despite the conflicting emotions in his head.

“You’re the best, Al.” He takes a step towards the large staircase, then stops in his tracks. “You don’t by any chance got some food too? I kinda haven’t eaten anything since I left Siberia.”

The frown gracing the older man is enough to tell him just how much he disapproves of this information. If he only knew, Jason thinks, quietly hoping that Alfred will never find out just how bad his eating habits have gotten. Not to mention his near non-existent sleeping schedule. Then again, he kind of did miss Alfred’s lectures. “Of course.”

Even his room looks almost the same as it did before he left. There are his posters suspended on the wall with pieces of tape, the stack of CDs on the otherwise empty desk. It feels eerie, strange and unwelcoming. He hurries to proceed to the closet and his eyes flicker to the old backpack stuffed into the corner. It’s old and worn out, littered with patches where Alfred fixed it after Jason loudly objected against throwing it away. He remembers when the backpack had been his whole life. A place to store stolen cigarettes and pieces of old bread. He remembers having nothing else to hold onto while he was out on the streets, just another street rat, always looking for a dry place to stay the night.

The clothes are new and Jason is thankful that Alfred considered the height he’s gained since the last time. He still isn’t as tall as Bruce, nor as broad. It probably could be blamed on his past; the years of running and hiding, leaving him underweight and scrawny. No amount of training could give him the bulging kind of muscles. But he was always fast, flexible, and strong enough to get the job done. Perfect Robin material. Jason huffs out a breath at his own thoughts, pushing away the bitterness rising in his throat.

He picks out something at random, leaving him with a comfortable hoodie and a pair of sweatpants that are just the slightest bit too wide. It feels strangely homely, trudging down the wide staircase in anything but his battle-gear. For a moment, he thinks that he could get used to this again but then again, he probably shouldn’t. As Bruce put it: “it’d be too damned easy”. And it wouldn’t do him any good because he’s not going to stay.

The thought brings him to the part about this visit that he’s been avoiding: Bruce. It’s not like he can avoid it forever because wherever Bruce has disappeared to, he’ll be back at some point. Jason isn’t sure he’s ready to face him yet. Doesn’t know what to do or say. Because that’s the part where his brain goes crazy with opportunities. With ‘maybe’s and ‘what if’s, possible scenarios that are never going to happen. What if Bruce doesn’t want him here?

The kitchen is warm, the air filled with a sweet scent that makes his mouth water. It really has been a while since he’s had a decent meal. And living off canned soup and whatever the Russian equivalent of ravioli is, doesn’t exactly count as a decent meal in his opinion. There’s a steaming cup of tea waiting for him and for a second Jason feels like something is pulling at his chest. Before everything went to shit, they had made a habit of drinking tea in the evenings. Alfred would call him down once he’d finished his homework, rewarding him with his favourite brand and a handful of cookies before he headed off to bed or down into the Batcave to join Bruce on his patrol. He wonders if Alfred managed to just stop doing it when he died. Or if he would sometimes pour two cups instead of one before realising that Jason wouldn’t come jumping down the stairs to join him.

He tries not to think about it. If there’s one thing he’s learnt over the past years, it’s to push intrusive thoughts back into the dark corners of his mind. It doesn’t fix things, but somethings can’t be fixed and if there’s a way to stave them off until he’s once more left to his own devices it’s good enough for him.

Jason wolfs down the food like he hasn’t eaten in months. He can see the way Alfred’s lips twitch just the slightest bit, his eyebrows raised in a way that speaks both of amusement and concern. It’s like he remembers all too well how scrawny and malnourished Jason was when he first arrived at the manor, how he never seemed to grow into Dick’s old clothes.

“So. How’s Bruce doing?” Because this is a topic he can’t avoid forever so he might as well try and face it. It’s enough to divert Alfred’s attention but it doesn’t ease the worry written into the lines on his face.

The butler sighs, and Jason thinks that he really looks older than he remembers. “Master Wayne hasn’t been sleeping.” When he notices Jason’s raised eyebrow, he adds: “Even less so than he usually does. The last weeks have been trying for all of us. I do think his encounter with Superman has hit him harder than even he admits. He has been spending more time in the cave, brooding over files, not to mention his regular visits to the family crypt. Something is eating away at him. I have tried talking to him, but it doesn’t seem like I got through to him. Maybe you could attempt-”

Jason barks out a laugh that sounds too bitter even in his own ears. “Don’t think he’s going to want to talk to me, Al. Far as I recall I was the black sheep of this family. If there’s one person he’d confide in it surely isn’t me.”

Alfred regards him with a look that is equal parts sympathy and understanding. “I don’t think you realise how much you still mean to him.”

He bites back the reply lingering on his tongue and looks down at his empty plate instead. There’s no point to deny the hope that simmers in his chest at that, no denying the way his heart aches. There’s a part of him that wants it to be true, to know that Bruce never stopped loving him, _needs _him the way he did years ago. Not that the kind of love, Jason harboured for the other man, was the same kind. And then there’s a part that is afraid that if he allows himself to be vulnerable again, he would all but fall apart.

“Where is he now?”

“I believe Master Wayne is attending a funeral.” Alfred throws a look at the clock over the counter. “I think he should be returning soon. If you wish I could try to contact him.” The tone of his voice suggests that the butler knows well enough Jason wouldn’t want him to.

Jason shakes his head. “I’ll wait for him in the cave. Thanks for the food Al.” He pushes himself up from his chair, suddenly feeling like the kitchen is growing too small for the both of them. His skin is itching, the mere act of talking about things is too unfamiliar to him. The desire to run, grab his bike and disappear again, gnaws at the back of his brain but he pushes it down. He came here on his own devices to try and see where it could get him, there’s no way he’s giving up that quickly.

It feels like the cave is smaller than he remembers. It’s still spacious and too wide for his eyes to see in the dim light but it’s less intimidating than it was when he was still a kid. Nothing else has changed. The same memorabilia line the walls. There’s a few he doesn’t remember, trophies from villains defeated that he can’t place. The quiet is like a soothing balm, trying to calm the maelstrom of thoughts in his mind. He’s not sure if he regrets coming here, isn’t sure if he should stay. Jason takes a deep breath and moves past the glass case without sparing his old uniform a second glance. It’s a replica anyway, he figures the original one was torn to pieces in the explosion. Just like his body.

The sound of footsteps tears him from his thoughts, and he slinks back into the shadows instinctively, eyes trained on the stairs leading up into the manor.

Bruce looks worn down. His shoulders are slumped, his tie halfway undone and the jacket of his suit crumpled. Even from his position Jason can see the bags under his eyes, the lines carved into his features. He looks beaten, like reality has finally managed to slither through the cracks of his defences. It makes Jason’s chest constrict, leaves him aching to reach out, to do anything to smooth the worry out of his face. He wants to embrace him, tell him that it’s going to be alright, that he’s safe to let go. But who is he to talk. He’s nothing but a shadow from the past, someone who’s still trying and failing to figure out who he’s supposed to be.

But he has to do something, so he steps out of the shadows. He can see Bruce flinch at the sound of his footfalls, can see those shoulders go rigid for a moment before they relax again.

“Jason.”

It’s hard to swallow around the lump in his throat. Hard to draw a breath that doesn’t shiver past his lips. He doesn’t know what to say, where to begin because so much has happened, there’s so many pieces for them to pick up. “You kept it.” He looks at the glass case, at his own reflection staring back at him. “After all this time, you still keep it.” He doesn’t know how to feel about it. In a way it’s as though Bruce is still clinging to the ghost of someone that has died long ago. As though he longs to have that Jason back more than he wants the person he has become. And Jason can’t blame him.

“I need it.” Bruce replies and the words are heavy, sinking down on Jason’s shoulders. “I need to remember what happens when I fail. What I can lose…”

The words force him to turn around, but Bruce isn’t looking at him. He seems to be staring at something far away and Jason feels an intense surge of emotion that he’s not even trying to decipher. “You didn’t lose me.” The words rush out of his mouth before he can consider them. They have the desired effect though as the man finally looks him in the eyes.

It’s as though something is pulling at him. He shifts, slowly making his way over to the older man. “I saw it on the news. I tried to get here as fast as I could. I’m sorry I’m late.”

Bruce shakes his head. “You’re here.” His voice is gentle, and the surprise is obvious in those words. He didn’t expect Jason to come, maybe didn’t dare to hope that he would.

Up close the other looks even worse. The tiredness is written into his face and he seems as though he could crumble any moment. Jason doesn’t flinch when Bruce reaches out, doesn’t back away when those strong arms pull him in. Instead he sinks into the embrace, returning it as though he still has the right to hold the other like this. “Yeah, I’m here… I’m here.” The words are a whisper, getting lost in the silence around them but it doesn’t matter. He can feel Bruce’s heartbeat, can feel his chest rise and fall. Jason doesn’t want to let go.

Bruce hides his face in Jason’s shoulder and Jason suppresses a shiver. His fingers come up to run through the soft black hair, remembering how the other used to hold him through his nightmares when he was nothing but a scared kid. He can feel the older man relax against him, as though all the tension is draining from his body. “I could use your help here in Gotham.”

Jason doesn’t know how to respond so he doesn’t. Neither does he reply when the other asks him to stay the night. He only hums, relishing the way it makes Bruce’s fingers curl against his back.

He doesn’t feel like sleeping. He stays for a little moment to make sure that Bruce is resting easily, brushing his fingertips over the man’s forehead in an attempt to chase away the nightmares. Something feels off about the situation. He feels like maybe Bruce really does need him after all, like he can make a difference here. Jason thinks that as long as he can be good for Bruce, he can stay. He doesn’t know what that means for him and the concept of not knowing frightens him.

Jason heads down the hidden staircase again, his soft footfalls echoing off the high walls of the cave. Moving past the glass case without sparing it a glance, he settles in the comfortable chair in front of the large screens. He’s surprised to find that the computer reacts to his voice and the ache in his chest deepens. There’s no way Bruce hasn’t changed his access codes since his death, especially since his voice changed too much. But the computer welcomes him anyway, announcing that he has clearance to access all recent files.

He decides not to think about it for now and focuses on his reading instead. If he wants to stick around, even if only for a little while, he needs to be up to date on what’s happening in Gotham. And he has a lot of catching up to do on the whole metahuman situation. They’ve known about Superman for a while and he knows that Bruce has been entertaining the possibility of other superheroes for a while but to see them pop up like that is something else entirely. Jason isn’t sure if it’s unsettling or pretty damn cool. Maybe Bruce has rubbed off on him too much because his first thought is about the damage these people could do if they were to choose the wrong side of the law. They need contingency plans, ways to take them out quickly in case anything like that happens.

Pulling his legs up, he wraps an arm around his knees to ward off the cold of the cave and clicks on the next folder. He snorts. Of course, Bruce has already started making plans, listing potential weaknesses and strengths for the powers he’s expecting. He wonders for a moment if Bruce really means it, that he could use Jason’s help in Gotham. Because how could Jason possibly keep up with these kinds of individuals?

Jason barely feels the exhaustion creep up on him until his eyelids are already heavy as lead and he’s reading the same sentence three times without figuring out its meaning. The cup of coffee he’s stolen from the kitchen is long empty and he’s sniffling a bit from the cold. Next time he’ll bring a blanket, he thinks.

He drags himself up the stairs, lingering for just a moment outside the door to the master bedroom. With a quiet shake of his head, he continues down the hallway and to his old room instead. His bed is made, the sheets smelling of the same laundry detergent that Alfred has used for as long as he can remember. It feels strange like everything does but maybe, just maybe it’s a good kind of strange. Even if just for a little while, maybe he can allow himself to get used to it.

When he wakes up the daylight is already filtering through the blinds and he thinks it has to be the most sleep he’s gotten in ages. To his surprise, he finds Bruce in the kitchen, with the sleeves of his pyjamas peeking out from under his bathrobe. He still looks tired, his face buried in the newspaper, messy hair sticking up in all directions. But he seems less on edge, features relaxed as he blindly reaches for his coffee mug every now and then.

Jason only realises that he’s been staring, when Bruce looks up from his paper. He doubts that the older man only noticed him now, after all Bruce is the one person he could never sneak up on, not that he was trying to. “Morning Jay.” There’s an easy smile on his lips and Jason can feel his heart jump in his chest. How does this man still hold such a power over him after all this time? Ducking his head instinctively to hide the way his lips are twitching in response, he brushes past Bruce to take a seat at the other end of the table. He sinks back into the chair, throwing his feet up onto one of the empty chairs, forcing himself to relax.

He can feel the other’s gaze rest on him, a feeling of irritation raising in chest at how the simple attention can make his gut twist like this. “What,” he snarls, harsher than he intended and immediately regretting it.

For a moment, he expects Bruce’s expression to change but the smile lingers. “I didn’t expect you to stay.”

It’s the honesty of the statement that takes his breath away. And this really has to stop because he’ll be making a fool out of himself. He doesn’t know what to say in return, so he doesn’t. Instead he gives a vague shrug and waits until Alfred saves him by serving his breakfast.

The silence between them stretches, like an old chewing gum, but it is less awkward and unpleasant than Jason expected it to be. Yet it still makes his skin crawl, anxiety creeping into his mind like a poisonous snake. He’s not used to sitting idly for too long. Sure, there were moments of peace and quiet throughout the last years but never for very long. It’s hard to settle while he’s on the run from the world and most of all, himself. But he’s not on the run anymore, he reminds himself. He jumps out of his seat once it becomes too much, offering to help Alfred with the dishes just to have something to do. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Bruce fold the newspaper and rising from his seat, the scratching of the chair on the floor as he stands up.

Alfred gives him a pointed look and shoos him out of the kitchen after politely declining his offer. It leaves Jason in the hallway, a strange feeling haunting his mind, as he slowly follows Bruce to the hidden staircase that leads down into the Batcave. “Say something,” he challenges the other, hoping that it would chase away the uneasiness that comes with the lingering silence.

“What do you want me to say, Jason?” Bruce’s voice is gentle, there’s not the slightest hint of irritation to his words. It doesn’t ease the tension in Jason’s shoulders, instead it only worsens it. Maybe it was a mistake to stay after all, what use could Bruce possibly have for him here? His mind jumps to the possibility of leaving, makes up a plan to say his farewell to Alfred before grabbing his bike and driving as far away from Gotham as the fuel will take him.

“Do you want to come on patrol with me?” The words pull him out of his thoughts. He blinks, realising that they’re already in the cave once more, his hands clenched to fists in the pockets of his sweatpants. Bruce is looking at him expectantly and Jason can practically feel the hope radiating off the other. He’s lonely, Jason thinks, left alone for too long in the darkness of his own world.

There’s no way he can refuse, even if he wanted to. So, he gives a shrug, resting his gaze on the sleeves of Bruce’s bathrobe. “Isn’t it a bit early?”

A smile curls around the other’s lips. “It’s never too early for justice.”

And it’s such a cheesy line that only Bruce could deliver with such a straight face. It almost makes Jason smile in return. “You haven’t changed, old man.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “Let me grab my gear from upstairs.”

Bruce gives him a nod. “Meet me at the batmobile in fifteen.” And then, as though it only slipped into his mind when Jason is already halfway up the stairs again, he adds: “No killing.”

Jason doesn’t respond, only keeps climbing the stairs. “You really haven’t changed at all,” he mumbles to himself once he’s out of earshot. And for some reason it’s this simple thing that eases some of the uneasiness, chasing away the anxiety crawling up his spine.

It feels strange riding shotgun in the batmobile again. It’s too easy to close his eyes and imagine he’s still wearing the brightly coloured outfit, half sitting on the cape that always seems to get in the way of his cool poses. He remembers his pockets full of marbles and rope, ridiculously effective weapons that he’s trained to use and that jump into his hands as quickly as the smart one-liners and bad puns.

He can’t see Bruce’s eyes behind the lenses, but his gaze is trained on the street they’re flying down, his grip on the steering wheel relaxed. He doesn’t seem to realise that Jason is staring at him or he does and he’s simply not reacting to it. Jason is glad that he lets him have that, gives him those long minutes of silence to simply watch. He catalogues the lines around Bruce’s mouth, the changes he’s made to his batsuit, the little things that only someone sees, who is trained to look for them. There are scratches on his armour, places where the cape has been singed and Jason isn’t sure if Bruce just hasn’t found the time to fix them yet, or if he doesn’t want to. He wonders if they’re leftovers of his encounter with Superman, realising that he knows nothing of what really happened. The only intel he got came from the news coverage and what little he found in the reports on the batcomputer.

The cool night air embraces him, he can taste the rain without looking up at the dark clouds looming overhead. Of course, the place is famous for its notoriously bad weather. Jason doesn’t remember the last time the skies cleared up, replacing the gloomy grey with the most brilliant of blues. In fact, he thinks to himself, the day that Gotham city welcomes him with sunshine and a warm breeze instead of the icy cold wind might as well be the day he’ll call the city _home_ once more. Both of which are things that will never happen.

Jason takes a deep breath, throwing a glance over his shoulder to find Bruce enraptured by whatever news Alfred is projecting onto the interface in his lenses. With a shrug, he pulls one of his guns from its resting place against his thigh. It’s an instinctive routine: ejecting the mag, checking for any irregularities before pushing it back in. He checks the safety lock, runs his fingernail through one of the more prominent scratches tainting the metal surface, before pushing it back into its holster. He’s halfway through the same check with the other one, when Bruce’s voice interrupts him.

“Gordon’s men are busting a pay-off at the docks. Alfred thinks they might be in over their heads.” It’s a routine that is just too easy to fall back into. The sentences are short, clipped, relying only the most important facts. Jason nods instinctively, without another word sliding into the passenger seat once more because there’s no time to waste.

But Jason isn’t Robin anymore and he doesn’t follow Batman’s clues as seamlessly as it should. They leave the batmobile behind and the sound of gunshots echoes from the large warehouses. Bruce is gone in a heartbeat, his grappling hook finding purchase on one of the rooftops. It leaves Jason at a loss for a split second. “No orders? Guess I’m doing this my own way.”

He doesn’t need Batman’s instructions to fall in line with him. His own tactics are different now, his moves less smooth marble-throwing-acrobatics-ace-kid and more like the broken soldier he is. And yet he hasn’t lost his touch one bit. He follows up on Bruce’s directions, as though they’re written clearly across the cloudy sky. His punches hit hard, where Bruce shoves the thugs into his reach, the soles of his shoes send the man flying back towards the caped crusader.

There is a synergy to their fighting that betrays their thousands of hours of training together, that shows just how well they know both each other's fighting style and personality. To anyone on the outside it must look like they can read each other's minds, a connection that makes spoken words completely unnecessary. And yet, despite just how well they work together, Jason can feel that there's something off. Where their moves might seem almost synchronised to a civilian, he notices small missteps, seconds of hesitation. It's nothing that can't be smoothed out with more training, he thinks to himself, blaming this strange feeling of unfamiliarity on their time spent apart.

The cops have removed themselves out of the battle minutes ago, knowing too well not to get into the Bat’s way. They’re lingering at the edges of the scene, watching their violent dance, some with fear written across their features, some with awe.

If the mission has seemed dangerous at first, the criminals clearly belonging to some drug cartel and armed with semi-automatic assault rifles, their combined efforts make it all too easy to shut them down. Jason thinks that he can almost feel the satisfaction radiating off the other man, once all six women and men are securely bound or knocked out. One of the policemen approaches them, gun drawn but no threat, with his arm hanging loosely at his side. He takes one look at the criminals on the ground, then glances up at the two vigilantes, shaking his head slowly. "Brutal," he mutters under his breath and then louder: "Thanks, Batman. Lucky for us, that you showed up when you did. One of my people got shot just before you got here. She'll live but we sure as hell didn't expect them to be this trigger-happy."

Jason huffed out a laugh. "Not like anyone ain't trigger happy around these parts. You should get used to that, officer. Can't always be there to save your ass." The cop shoots him an incredulous look, obviously wondering who exactly he is and why he's tagging along with the Bat.

He doesn't react to the statement, however. "This a friend of yours? Haven't seen him around before."

Oh, the "completely-ignoring-the-sidekick" thing. It's not like he hasn't experienced that a million times before... "You know, I'm right here-" Jason starts but a raised, gloved hand stops him before he can say anything else.

"He's with me," Bruce only says in return and somehow the sentence makes a warm feeling spread in his chest. Not, that he allows himself to indulge in this warmth, though he can't help but admit that it's nice. Jason doesn't even try to hide the grin that spreads over his lips, when the cop accepts this explanation without daring to ask any more questions.

The distant sound of howling sirens draws the cops attention, and once he turns his head back towards the two vigilantes, they've both disappeared without a trace. He frowns, thinking to himself something along the lines of "oh, good, there's two of them now".

Jason lets out a groan, when he stretches his arms along the roof of the batmobile, twisting his hips and receiving a satisfying pop in his back in return. "I gotta admit, I missed watching you work, more than I thought. Not sure, I like the whole sidekick vibe though."

If he's honest, he's not sure if this is what he wants for himself. It's different from the time when he was still Robin, different from his blind following of orders. Bruce still expects him to act within his rules, but he doesn't give him clear commands. And yet, he's still just a shadow of his mentor, an add-on, so to speak.

Maybe, he's simply gotten too used to doing his own thing, to being left completely to his own devices that he's forgotten what it feels like for someone else to have his back. Yeah, that has to be it.

To his surprise, Bruce's voice is gentle, when he answers, his gaze under the cowl clearly focused on the younger man: "I missed having you there."

The words leave him breathless for a moment, the sarcastic remark withering away on his tongue, unspoken. It's not that he hasn't expected the other to truly want him at his side again, it's just, that he's not used to Bruce being this honest about it, this outspoken.

Or maybe, maybe he's simply never given Bruce the chance to be this honest. It wasn't the same, back when he was still Robin, still the good little sidekick that was like a perfect extension to the vigilante. And after that, well, things weren't exactly easy.

The world he came back to wasn't the same he left behind. Hell, it took him years to find his way back to Gotham after his involuntary dip in the Lazarus pit and when he did, he found that Bruce himself had changed. This Batman is harsher than the one he remembers, rougher around the edges.

Jason doesn't blame him.

They haven't talked about it yet, about the Joker's blood on Bruce's hands, about the ultimate sacrifice he committed in his grief for his dead companion. Hell, Bruce probably thinks, Jason is still angry about his death.

He's not sure if he was ever truly angry. When he came back to life, he was confused at first. His mind a huge mess of things he couldn't decipher. An actual zombie. Then, he was thrown head first into the Lazarus pit and suddenly his world was filled with pain. Being able to think didn't exactly make his situation better. Instead, he was left terrified, and, once he escaped from Ra'as stronghold, lost.

It took him so long, to even figure out his own fragmented memories, surviving purely on instincts. He was desperate, hurt, alone. He knew, Bruce was somewhere out there, the one clear memory that guided him from the start. But he didn't know where to look.

And Bruce never came looking for him.

When he had finally made his way back to Gotham somehow, he was a mere shadow of his old self. Years had passed, there were no flowers on his grave and Bruce seemed to have forgotten about him. Even though he knew that the bachelor playboy Bruce Wayne was nothing, but a show put on for the journalists, Jason couldn't help but think how happy he looked in those newspaper pictures. With all those beautiful men and women around him, the rumours of an engagement between him and that one actress, Jason had never even heard of... Of course, he had no right to be hurt, he'd always been just a kid with a stupid, quite literally, undying, crush on his mentor.

He stopped by the mansion, left a present for Alfred and broke into the Batcave. A part of him wished that Bruce was there, another part of him was terrified of the possibility. He had no idea what he was supposed to say. After all those years, after being lost for so long, he didn't know what words would be able to mend his own broken mind.

But the cave was abandoned. The Batman was roaming the city, on his own. He didn't need Jason to get the job done. All things considered, Bruce didn't exactly need him for anything. If he ever did. And that was a thought he tried his hardest to never explore.

So, he left. Didn't put any effort into not leaving a trace behind, just in case-

A hand on his arm makes him flinch, pulls him out of his thoughts. He glances up to find Bruce has walked around the car, standing tall next to him. There's no telling what his eyes are saying but the lines around his mouth have softened. The older man doesn't speak, only looks down upon him, as though he's waiting for Jason to share his thought.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he asks: "Are you alright?"

The moment is too tender, too intimate and it sets his skin on fire. He's caught, staring at the mask and searching his empty mind for a suitable reply.

"Ah-" He clears his throat, turning his head because his thoughts are racing in his head and he needs to focus on something, anything else. The ground is dirty, patches of grass breaking through the concrete. Funny, how humans try so hard to control nature and yet it breaks through over and over again.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he finally says but he knows Bruce isn't convinced. Not, with how long it took him to get out the words. Not, with the way he can't look up until the other has finally abandoned his guarding stance and returns to the driver's side of the batmobile. His arm feels cold, where Bruce's hand rested just moments ago. It's like his skin misses the touch, longs for it.

He closes his eyes, as he lets himself sink into the passenger seat. As they drive back to the mansion, he imagines what the city would look like years after all civilisation has died out. Trees growing through the rubble of skyscrapers, deer trudging along the cracked concrete of the streets, feeding on the dandelions that have reclaimed the sidewalks.

Neither of them breaks the silence until they reach the cave. Jason peels the mask off his face, barely noticing the feeling of his skin tingling, so used is he to the sensation.

"Thank you." The words surprise him, and he turns around, finding himself caught in the gaze of those steel blue eyes, as Bruce has taken off the cowl. He still looks tired, but Jason likes to think that the exhaustion sits a little less deeply in his bones. The younger man resists the urge to walk up to him, to trace the lines on his face and brush his fingers over those dark shadows under his eyes.

Instead, he only shrugs. "Nothing to thank me for, old man." There are more words lingering on his tongue but none of them seem to fit the situation. The slight twitch pulling at the other's lips, makes his chest ache. Oh, he has to leave, before this unrequited love breaks his heart all over again.

But Bruce looks so glad to have him around, there's an honesty in his words and actions that reveals just how lonely he truly is. Maybe the Batman's world is supposed to be lonely, a road meant only for him to walk. But Jason can't help but think that maybe, even Gotham's greatest vigilante needs to remember that he's not all alone after all.

Bruce’s fingers are working with the buckles and zippers of his suit and Jason has to force himself to stop staring as the other reveals the naked skin of his upper body. There are scars he doesn’t remember and next to them bruises and stitches that look too fresh to not be souvenirs from his latest great fight against Doomsday. Instinctively, he takes a step forward and reaches out a hand, his fingers featherlight, as he trails one of the new scars along the man’s chest. The marked skin is rough and warm against his own, as though it’s inviting him to explore further. He only realises what he’s doing, when Bruce freezes under his touch. _Fuck._ He pulls his hand away, as though the contact burnt him. “Ah, sorry-“ He has no clue what he’s supposed to say, what kind of apology could make Bruce look past this indecent gesture. “I- I’ll wait upstairs. I’m sure Al has dinner ready…” With that, he hurries to turn and heads towards the stairs with long strides.

He doesn’t turn around to see what’s surely a shocked if not disgusted expression. _Oh shit._ Why did he come here in the first place? Maybe he should just grab his things and leave right this moment. After all, if this isn’t a distinct clue that being around Bruce isn’t a good idea, then what is? Hell, Bruce probably doesn’t even want him around now. And Jason can’t even blame him. His chest feels too tight, panic bubbling up in his mind, that makes his hands tremble. Clenching his teeth, he forces his breathing to steady. Bruce doesn’t say a single word and Jason isn’t sure if that reassures him or makes him feel worse. Casting his eyes downwards, he flees up the stairs.

Jason doesn’t get very far at all. Bruce’s steps behind him are nowhere near as soundless as usual, as he’s obviously preoccupied with something else. He comes to a halt just a few feet behind him. “Jay!” His voice is serious. There’s none of Batman’s grovel left but it’s still deep, emotional even.

He feels shame burning on his cheeks, despises himself for his cowardice and the way he can’t even look up into the other’s eyes. “What is it, old man?”

Bruce seems to hesitate, and Jason is trying his best to stare holes into his dirty combat boots. But the leather doesn’t budge, and he’s not prepared for the gentleness in the older man’s tone. He almost flinches, when a hand suddenly comes to rest on his shoulder, the touch so kind that it makes his heart jump in his chest. “Stay. Please.”

The request takes him by surprise and the thoughts in his head are racing at a thousand miles per hour. He doesn’t dare to ask why Bruce still wants him to stay, doesn’t dare to ask if Bruce will just pretend nothing happened. Instead he only nods, his voice cracking ever so slightly, when he responds. “Whatever.”

It's as much of an agreement as he can manage, because how the fuck would he be able to leave now? If Bruce fucking Wayne asks him to stay, there’s no way he can refuse. Because it feels like he’s suffocating even thinking about it. And because he knows that if he leaves now, he won’t ever come back. And the idea alone will break his heart in the most cliched soap opera way.

The hand on his shoulder lingers for another moment and he thinks he can feel the other’s warmth through his thick leather jacket and the Kevlar underneath. His skin tingles, and he feels the intense urge to turn around and throw himself into Bruce’s arms. No, no. One stupid misstep is enough for one evening, he tells himself and he mutters something under his breath about getting a shower before dinner.

It seems to satisfy Bruce, as the hand slips off his shoulder, a weight lifted and yet he yearns for it to return. Jason doesn’t find the courage to turn around and see the expression on the other’s face. So instead he hurries down the hall and up the stairs without another word or a glance back at Bruce.

The hot water pours over his body, almost scalding his skin and slowly easing his muscles into relaxation. He leans his back against the cold tiles of the wall, the contrast sending shivers down his spine and causing goose bumps to erupt on his arms. He sighs, closing his eyes and tilting his face upward into the spray. His hands roam over his body, calluses catching on his scars, as he maps out his own chest. Oh, he knows he’s going to hell for this, but he can’t resist. He still sees Bruce’s naked chest in front of him, feels the warmth of his skin under his fingers.

He imagines Bruce stepping into the shower, his body gloriously naked and sun kissed. He pushes Jason into the wall, trapping him with his body alone. Strong hands bury themselves in his hair, tilting his head back so that the taller man can kiss his lips. A soft moan falls from Jason’s lips, as he melts into the kiss, parting his lips and inviting Bruce’s tongue to invade him. Their tongues tangle and slide against each other in a hot, wet dance that sends sparks of electricity along his body. Bruce’s hands roam over his body greedily, exploring every part as though he wants to burn the memory into his mind. His fingers are demanding, rough, as they dig into Jason’s hips and pull him closer until their bodies are pressed tight against each other. He can feel Bruce’s hard dick press into him, and the sensation makes him groan, his own penis stiffening quickly.

“I’ve been thinking about you, Jay,” Bruce growls into his ear once he’s done devouring Jason’s mouth. His perfect lips trace the curve of Jason’s neck, teeth digging into the space where his shoulder and neck meet just above his collar bone. Hot pain sparks within him, leaving him gasping but not for mercy. His own hands find Bruce’s back, fingernails digging into the skin, desperately holding onto the other. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” Bruce admits, his words half swallowed by the hungry kisses he leaves along Jason’s chest. His voice is honey and darkness, deepened by arousal and dripping with uncontested dominance. The heat seems to make Jason delirious, his vision blurry, as his body arches into the older man’s touch.

“Such a good boy, look at you.” Bruce’s hand finds his hard cock and Jason moans desperately in response. The other’s hand tightens around his length, jerking him off with slow, languid movements. “Yeah, that’s it,” the older man encourages him, as his hand continues to draw noises out of him, causes him to buck his hips and press his back harder against the cold wall. “Come on, let me hear you, Jay. Tell me what you want.”

Jason almost chokes on his own tongue, his eyes squeezed shut, as he finds a finger prodding at his entrance, gently teasing the rim. “Please, B – _fuck_ – I need you, B…” The finger pushes in ever so slightly, slick with soap and he gasps. “Fuck me, B, please…”

Bruce hums, his lips returning to torture Jason’s neck, kissing and licking and biting his way down to his nipples. The scratch of teeth against the tender nubs is torture, drawing pleading whines from his throat. “Fuck, come on B…”

The finger thrusts into him further, then pulls back, only to be replaced by two digits. The stretch is uncomfortable at first, the angle difficult but it feels so fucking good. “Bruce…” he moans, as the hand around his dick speeds up its pace, the motion so perfect to stimulate him further and further. “You have to beg for it,” Bruce responds, his movements slowing just to torture him further. “Beg like a good little slut.”

There’s no rational thought left in his mind. “Please, please B, please let me come for you…”

Satisfied, Bruce rewards him with a breathless kiss, his hand returning to the faster pace. Jason bites his bottom lip, as his body convulses. His orgasm rushes through him like a wave, making his muscles contract, breath caught in his throat. His hand slows, pushing the last drops of his come out of his dick, before he falls back against the wall.

He doesn’t open his eyes for a long while, allows his body to come down from the high.

Yeah, staying here is really not a good idea, he thinks, as he finally shakes off the post-orgasm trance and hurries to finish his shower. His legs just the tiniest bit noodle-y, he steps onto the ridiculously fluffy rug and wraps himself in one of the huge towels everyone loves so much. For a moment he lingers, staring at his blurry reflection in the fogged-up mirror.

“You’re a mess,” he tells himself before he pulls his gaze away and steps out into the hallway.

Jason stops dead in his tracks, when he spots the very man he just fantasized about at the other end of the hall.

“Jay.”


	2. Chapter 2

For a little moment, his heart seems to falter, and his brain shifts into overdrive. _Fuck. Did he hear?_ But Bruce’s expression looks calm and certainly not like he just overheard his former ward jerk off to him. Instead, the older man gives him the slightest smile and Jason’s stomach churns.

He still isn’t immune to the unguarded expressions on the other’s face; to seeing that stern mask fall off and the broody scowl give way.

Jason clears his throat and wills himself to push away the reminders of his lustful fantasies before they spill over and he ends up doing something really, really stupid.

“Ah, yeah. What is it, B?” His voice sounds too breathy, not at all like the self-assured rebel he claims to be.

Bruce looks comfortable in his pullover and the loose sweatpants, though it’s somewhat strange to see him in casual clothes rather than the perfectly fitted suits or the Batman outfit. It’s almost too domestic, like he’s suddenly part of something intimate and private again and it makes a warmth spread through Jason’s chest.

A moment of silence follows, as though there are words lingering on Bruce’s tongue that he’s not sure he wants to speak out loud.

Droplets of water fall from his still wet hair and run along his bared chest and suddenly, Jason feels incredibly self-conscious of how he’s standing there half-naked. The other’s gaze flickers, seems to lose focus for a moment before jumping back up to regain eye-contact.

A shiver crawls along Jason’s spine and he licks his lips unconsciously, feeling the atmosphere grow more and more laden with something, he can’t quite pinpoint. Awkwardness maybe? Is Bruce uncomfortable around him now, after his slip-up earlier?

It’s the chiming of the doorbell that pulls the both of them out of their stalemate and it feels like he has been released from a spell. He glances up at Bruce’s face, though he avoids looking the other in the eyes.

There’s a strange and unfamiliar expression lingering on the other’s features and it surprises Jason. Here he thought, he could read Bruce like a book. But apparently that was a rather arrogant assumption.

Bruce straightens his posture and there’s no trace left of that gentle almost-smile. Instead his brows are furrowed. “Alfred wants you to come downstairs for dinner.” He too seems to be avoiding making eye-contact now and part of Jason’s brain thinks it’s hilarious that they’re acting like children, while the other part is mortified with the idea that he fucked up for good this time.

“Yeah sure,” Jason replies before even thinking twice. “Just gotta, y’know, put on some clothes first. Before I give whatever visitor, you’re having a heart attack.” His attempt at a dry joke to defuse the charged mood, doesn’t fail entirely, as he can see Bruce’s eyebrow twitch.

The older man nods. “I think that’s a very good idea, Jason. Not everyone is accustomed to the sight.”

And, maybe he’s imagining it, but Jason could swear that there’s a weird undertone to the other’s statement.

Determined not to try and overthink this whole situation, he turns and heads towards his room without another word. Funny, how he’s already thinking of it as _his_ room again. He’s halfway down the hallway, when he finally hears Bruce move. Was he watching him? No way, he was probably just lost in thought for a moment.

Jason shakes his head. He really needs to clear his mind and get his act straight before he damages their relationship beyond repair. At this point he should have enough experience pining after his mentor without letting anyone notice it. But then again, it’s been a long time since he’s last been so close to the object of his affection.

He doesn’t want to think about the last time they met before. Doesn’t want to remember the state his mind was in, only barely clinging to sanity after finding his way back from the grave.

When he came back Gotham had changed. Bruce had changed. No one blamed Batman for killing the Joker, not after everything that crazed maniac had done, after all the murders, the people he’d left crippled and broken.

But no one knew what it was that had pushed the dark knight over the edge. No one but the ones closest to him. There’s no doubt that Dick wasn’t happy with Bruce’s decision. The golden boy probably had a whole lot to say about “breaking one’s code” and “being just as bad as the criminals”.

Maybe that’s the reason why Nightwing didn’t show up to help when shit hit the fan with Doomsday. Then again, Dick has never been one to stay angry for very long. He’s too kind-hearted to give anyone a hard time and let’s grudges go way too easily, as far as Jason remembers.

Pushing open the door to his room, he forces the thoughts aside. He’s not very keen on remembering his resurrection and the way it took months for him to even put a fraction of his mind back in order.

Once again, he commends Alfred for his thoughtfulness, as he throws on a shirt and a pair of comfortable pants. A glance in the mirror reveals that his wet hair is all over the place, but he doesn’t care enough to try and tame it.

For a second, he wonders just how shocked whatever guest Bruce is having over would be if he showed up in just his boxers and the idea makes him grin. It certainly is something he would’ve pulled off when he was younger. But back then he wasn’t as awkward around his mentor just yet and while he somewhat prides himself in his cockiness, he’s not quite as ballsy as his teenage self was. 

Which, considering things, is probably a good thing.

Not exactly keen on the additional company, he takes his time to get downstairs. And honestly, he almost regrets telling Bruce that he’ll be down for dinner, when he hears a familiar voice from the entrance hall.

Vicky Vale. Well, there’s a face he hasn’t missed one bit. If it wasn’t bad enough that the reporter was always trying to stick her nose into their business when he was younger, her obvious attempt to get a piece of Bruce made his teenage heart boil with distaste.

Peering over the railing of the stairs, he notices how she’s all pushed up into Bruce’s personal space, indicating all too clearly that she still hasn’t given up on scoring a piece of that ass. Not that Jason could blame her. Hell no.

She hasn’t changed much, her head held high and her heels higher. She’s dressed smartly and, in all regards, looks like a successful person who fought her way to the position she has now with teeth and claws. Which still doesn’t make Jason’s dislike her any less.

What also hasn’t changed is how Bruce is clearly not inclined to indulge the reporter in her seduction attempt. His replies to her questions are polite and brief, relaying only the barest of information.

Jason allows himself to sit down on one of the steps, hidden from view, just to listen to the sound of Bruce’s voice. It’s so different from the Batman’s and yet it’s still not quite the one that he uses when it’s just the two of them and Alfred.

This voice is smooth and flirty in a way that doesn’t allow any hopes because it belongs to a playboy who uses the same kind of attentive charm on just about everyone who crosses his path. For a moment Jason closes his eyes and imagines that voice directed at him.

They meet at a bar, complete strangers with a sizzling attraction based on pure chemistry. He’s sitting at the counter when Bruce sinks onto the stool next to him, half turned towards him with that sleezy smile playing around his lips. He taps the bar with his fingertips and points at Jason’s drink, when the bartender asks what he’s ordering.

“I’ll have the same. Must be good if it satisfies someone as beautiful as this.” The last part of the sentence is directed towards him and Jason can’t help the smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

He turns his head to look the stranger up and down, takes in the opened suit jacket, the partly unbuttoned shirt and the loose tie. “Are you always this smooth or is it the alcohol talking?”

The other smirks and nods gratefully at the bartender who serves his drink, without taking his eyes off Jason’s face. There’s hunger carved into his features, subtle but obvious for those who know what to look for. “I like to think it’s a specialty of mine to be smooth, but you might just have to find out for yourself if it’s true.”

His blue eyes are dark in the dim light of the bar and Jason finds himself drawn in by their gaze that so unashamedly slides along his arms and down his side. “Now, that almost sounds like an invitation, Mister- what was your name again?” He moves to pull the pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jacket that is slung over the back of his chair, gently tapping it against his left hand and pulling out a cigarette with his lips.

“I think it might just be one.” The stranger immediately reaches into his own pocket and pulls out a lighter. “Allow me.” He leans in, to light Jason’s cigarette and the younger man can see the mischievous spark in his eyes. Without leaning back again, Bruce lets the lighter slide back into his pocket and watches Jason’s face attentively, as he replies to his question: “Wayne. But please, call me Bruce. I didn’t escape the stuffy board meetings to have you treat me formally.”

Jason chuckles and takes a drag of his cigarette, deliberately keeping eye-contact as he blows the smoke through his pursed lips. “Bruce Wayne, huh. Can’t say I’m used to such classy company.”

Gotham’s most eligible bachelor only raises an eyebrow. “Really? And here I thought I was out of my league to even hope you’d spare me a second glance.”

_What a sweet talker_, Jason thinks to himself, hiding his amusement to instead give the other a calculated once-over. After all, he can’t spoil the fun of their little game too quickly. He doesn’t take the bait, instead takes a sip from his glass and relishes the way the alcohol burns along his throat. “What brings you to a place like this, _Bruce._” He lets the name roll of his tongue, as though tasting it thoroughly and he can see the way the other’s lips twitch in response.

“Would it be too honest to say I was looking for a cheap drink and a little distraction? I’m afraid you have ruined my plans thoroughly.”

Jason leans in slightly, catching the smell of Bruce’s cologne. “Oh? How so?”

The smirk on the other’s lips widens. “Clearly, you fit into neither of those categories but now that I’ve laid eyes on you, I’d be a fool to allow you to slip through my fingers…”

The rest of his reply is cut off by a voice that pulls Jason straight back into reality: “She’s gone, Jason. You can come out.”

He’s been so lost in his fantasy, that he hasn’t even heard the click-click of the reporter’s heels as she headed for the front door. With a sigh, he opens his eyes and heaves himself up from the stairs he’s been sitting on. “’Course you knew I was there,” he grumbles, as he descends the stairs to join the other.

“From the very beginning.” Bruce doesn’t look at him, instead turns towards the kitchen. “Alfred’s waiting, we should hurry.”

Jason feels a cold sting in his chest, almost wishing for this Bruce to be replaced with the one from his daydream. But then again, would he really sacrifice all of their memories to be able to engage with Bruce as a complete stranger? It’s not like he’d get more than a short fling out of it, a few dates at most. Everyone knows that Bruce Wayne doesn’t date anyone seriously. Even if sometimes the rumour of an engagement pops up out of the blue, it always gets debunked just as quickly.

He pushes aside the little voice that reminds him that one day, Bruce just might find someone he wants to stay with forever. Because that is a whole ‘nother can of worms he really doesn’t want to open right now.

Hands pushed into his pockets; he follows the other to the kitchen. They enter the kitchen and Jason immediately finds himself smiling, despite the gloomy thoughts in his head. Al is clearly still trying to make up for all the meals he’s missed the last couple of months, because where Bruce’s plate features a reasonable amount of food, his is stacked with ribs, potatoes and coleslaw.

The butler himself is standing next to the table with his arms crossed and an expression of displeasure on his face. “Dinner has been ready for twenty minutes. I’m afraid it is no longer very hot.”

“Sorry Al, B had a _visitor_,” Jason drew the last part out on purpose, as he fell into the chair and reached for the cutlery. “This looks awesome. Your cooking skills are really wasted on the old man, I’m telling ya!”

Alfred nods slightly, taking the compliment with his usual stoic grace but his eyes betray how happy he is to have Jason back. Or maybe just to have the house a little livelier. “It is not the only skill of mine that is wasted on Master Bruce.

The response made Jason grin, as he shoveled forkfuls of food into his mouth, without paying attention to how much sauce he smeared across his face.

“Jason,” Bruce says with an arched eyebrow. “Slow down, no one’s going to steal your food if you don’t eat it fast enough.”

The younger man shrugs but nevertheless slows his pace a little, mostly because he doesn’t want to upset his stomach, not because he cares about what the other thinks.

He’s been pretty bad at keeping up with regular meals lately but that was nothing compared to when he first escaped from Ra’s fortress, years ago. Back then, he’d lived off bugs and rats, stumbling through the wilderness without any sense of orientation, his brain still spinning from the dip in the Lazarus pit. If he’d known the feeling of an empty stomach from his childhood already, it had become a constant companion then.

Jason shakes off the memory. Instead, he looks up at Bruce, wiping his mouth with a napkin, to keep up at least a semblance of manners. “Soo, what did Vicky want from you? Did she ask you out again?”

The older man gives him a strange look and shakes his head. “She asked why I didn’t make an appearance at the Superman memorial.”

Jason’s mouth goes dry and he looks down at his plate. He knows the whole thing is a sore spot for Bruce, even without having read through all of Bruce’s notes on the events from their battle and the disaster with Doomsday. Just how he knows that Bruce is determined to find those other metahumans and forge some kind of alliance with them.

“What did you tell her?” Of course, the public wants to know why Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s most popular celebrity didn’t show up to the memorial of the world’s greatest superhero. Especially since it took place only one city away.

Bruce hums. “I let her know that I will be giving an official statement on the matter tomorrow. And asked her to request an appointment next time, rather than just showing up at my door.”

Jason smiles at the last part. Oh, he sure doesn’t mind at all if the reporter can’t just show up whenever she wants. “That’s cold, B. She’s just doing her job. If I was a reporter, I’d be all over you too, y’know.”

He gets another strange look and at this point, he’s feeling a little awkward. “I mean, cuz you’re so famous and popular, duh. People eat up stories about you like it’s free ice-cream.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow and gives him a sceptical look. And at this point Jason is glad that he’s cleared his plate because he really wants to get out of here. A part of him is still offering the “just leave entirely” solution but he can’t deny that he’s tired as shit. Probably because he hasn’t slept in over forty hours.

“Anyway, I’m gonna hit the hay or else I’ma pass out on you.” He quickly gets up, not sparing the older man another glance, before he heads towards the door.

However, before he can make his swift exit, he’s stopped by a gentle voice behind him: “Are you going to be here in the morning?”

And for some reason the question alone is enough to tighten his chest, catching the breath in his lungs. The uncertainty in Bruce’s voice, the way he hesitated a little in the middle of his sentence, like he’s not sure if he’s even allowed to ask. All that betrays just how fucked up the other really is, how much all the weight on his shoulders is dragging him down.

He clears his throat, hands balled into fists. There’s no way he can turn around and look Bruce in the face right now. Not, when every instinct in his body is screaming at him to do something, anything to chase that tired look away, that is surely lingering on the older man’s face. Fuck, he’d rather take a bullet than hear him sound like that.

“Dunno.”

It’s a lie. He already knows he’s not going anywhere. At least not tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, here's the next chapter. It's by far not as long as the last one but I am quite satisfied with it. There's a lot to unpack here bois. The next chapter will probably be around the same length and will hopefully be updated much more frequently now. 
> 
> If you want, you can check out "Gotham's Finest" in the meantime, which I'm also working on right now and which will definitely have another update in the next days (tomorrow? maybe?)
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some slight Slade/Jay for this chapter. Nothing explicit happens, don't worry!

Despite being dead tired, Jason finds himself unable to get any kind of restful sleep. He wakes after a few hours, bathed in sweat and thirsty. Even after grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen, he can’t fall back asleep. He lies awake, staring at the ceiling. Maybe it’s the bed that’s too comfortable after he’s gone months without sleeping on anything more than remotely bed shaped. Maybe it’s this place that doesn’t let him rest. Maybe it’s his guilty conscious about the inappropriate feelings he’s harbouring towards its owner.

Whatever it is, it’s driving him out of his mind. With a groan, he gets up, not bothering to throw on more than a shirt above his boxers. He considers heading down to the Batcave and studying more of Bruce’s files. Catching up on what’s going on in Gotham doesn’t seem like a bad idea, especially if he ends up sticking around for a while. Not that he has already decided that.

But then again, he’s pretty sure he can’t bring up the energy to actually do any research right now.

Still caught in uncertainty what he should do with his head pounding and his eyes burning, he decides to head down to the kitchen. When he was young Al used to make him hot chocolates when he couldn’t sleep, slip him a cookie or two when Bruce wasn’t looking. Maybe that’s exactly the medicine he needs right now: Something sweet and a little nostalgia, to make him fall asleep.

He’s halfway down the hallway, when he notices that Bruce’s door is standing open a crack. Jason doesn’t know what it is that practically draws him to the other’s room like a spell. His mouth is dry, when his hand comes to rest on the door handle and he tells himself that he’s just going to check on the older man quickly before being on his way.

He pushes the door open further and peeks inside. He almost expected the other to not even be there, figuring he might be out and about as Batman.

But Bruce is there. He’s groaning, thrashing in his sleep, as though he’s being haunted by something terrifying. There’s a whisper of words falling from his lips, but Jason can’t pick up what his mentor is saying.

The sight makes his chest sting and he unconsciously steps into the room, gently closing the door behind him. His steps are light, careful not to wake the other, as he closes the distance between them. He ends up next to the man’s bed, hesitating for a moment, before allowing himself to sit down on the fluffy rug on the floor.

“Hey, B,” he murmurs, reaching out to brush his fingers over the other’s hand. “It’s okay. You’re not alone.” He doesn’t pull his hand away, when Bruce grabs it in his sleep, simply allows the man to hold onto him.

Jason isn’t sure if it’s really his presence or attempts at soothing him or if his nightmare has just run its course but Bruce calms down finally. His breathing evens out and he shifts closer towards the edge of the bed, where Jason is sitting.

“Jason,” the word is slurred and for a moment he’s afraid that Bruce has woken up, but the older man still seems soundly asleep.

A smile curls around his lips, as he rests his head on the mattress, glancing up at the other’s face. “It’s just a dream, B. It’s alright.”

The grip around his hand tightens for a moment, before relaxing again, as though in his sleep Bruce had to make sure that he’s really there.

Jason sighs, watching him sleep for a moment. He feels his own brain slowing down further, the ache in his head creeping towards his temples and his eyelids becoming heavy. He has to get up and make it back to his room at least. But he suddenly feels drained of all his energy and can’t bring up the strength to stand up.

_Just for a moment,_ he thinks to himself, allowing his eyes to fall shut and nestling his head into the blanket. _I’ll just rest my eyes for a moment and then I’ll get up._

* * *

He doesn’t realise that he’s slept through the whole night until he wakes up finding himself nestled into the comfortable blankets with his head on a pillow rather than the edge of the bed. Jason blinks groggily, disoriented by the drowsiness in his mind. There’s something very warm and comforting in his back and he instinctively shifts to get closer to the source.

Skin brushes against skin, the distinctive shape of an elbow digs into his shoulder. Jason flinches, turning around only to find himself inches away from Bruce’s sleeping face. _Oh shit._

He scrambles backwards, trying to calm his racing heart. Bruce must’ve woken up. And found him next to the bed. And then put him in his bed. And there’s no telling what the older man is going to say or think when he wakes up because it’s totally not normal for Jason to fall asleep next to his bed.

_Fuck_! If he hasn’t made things awkward already, this is definitely the point where Bruce gets creeped out, he’s sure of it.

Cursing himself, he climbs out of the bed, trying his hardest to ignore his morning wood – what was he thinking showing up in Bruce’s room sporting nothing but underwear and a shirt?

He’s halfway to the door when he hears Bruce shift behind him. His voice is raspy with sleep and it sends a shiver down Jason’s spine that makes his shorts feel even tighter. “Jay…”

Jason swallows thickly, trying not to think about the way that voice makes his name sound, about how much he wants Bruce to say his name more often. The situation is so intimate that it makes his skin crawl, and he knows that he’s too close to his breaking point. If he doesn’t leave right now, he’s going to do something really stupid like climbing on top of Bruce and kissing him and…

He reaches for the door and practically runs into the hallway, letting it slam shut behind him. His heart is hammering in his chest, like it’s trying to break through his ribs and take matter into its own hands. But Jason has no desire to fuck his relationship with Bruce up for good. If he has to lock his feelings and desires up behind a solid brick wall then so help him, he will do exactly that.

Jason flees to his room and digs in the wardrobe for the clothes he arrived with. It looks like Alfred threw away his shirt, but his leather pants are still there, washed and mended. He silently thanks the butler for his attentiveness and grabs the nearest shirt to put on.

He rushes downstairs and flinches, when he hears a door close upstairs. He knows he’ll have to face the music eventually, at least if he comes back to the manor. But not right now. He really needs to cool his head, first.

Jason grabs his leather jacket and boots, picks up his mask and hesitates when he reaches his guns. Bruce hasn’t put them away, hasn’t hidden them. Instead they are lying in a workbench in the cave, in plain view.

The young man feels a stab of guilt at the sight. Bruce trusts him enough to just leave them there, trusts that he won’t go against his wishes. They even look like someone recently cleaned them thoroughly.

With a muttered curse, he walks past the workbench and grabs a couple Batarangs and a stun gun instead. Attaching the grappling hook and ropes to his hip, he heads over to his motorbike. His trusty knives are still waiting in the compartment on the side of the bike and he slides two into his boots, before turning his attention to the machine itself.

It looks like Alfred has gotten some work in, replacing worn out parts and adding various upgrades from the look of it. It has new wheels as well and Jason can’t help but shake his head in awe. The old butler really has some skill still, considering he had two days for all of this. He wonders if Bruce asked him to work on the bike or if Alfred did it on his own. Either way, it’s a gesture that makes his chest constrict.

He’s not used to people taking care of him or his things anymore, not used to anyone giving a fuck about him. How could he forget how much effort Alfred and Bruce put into making sure all members of their little “Batfamily” are taken care of.

Jason reaches for his helmet – not the shining red one but a simple black one he picked up for the sake of anonymity - and mounts the bike. He feels an uncomfortable pressure against his crotch but decidedly ignores it. Not the time or the place for this. Maybe he should’ve taken a shower before leaving but then he probably wouldn’t have been able to avoid running into Bruce.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, as he rides up the ramp and through the gate that parts before him. The wind tears at his jacket and legs but he barely realises it. Jason has always loved speed, since that first time he rode passenger in the Batmobile and Bruce showed him just how fast they could go.

It’s less the adrenaline than the complete trust in his skills and reaction time that it takes. He’s good at this and there’s a strange kind of serenity that he finds, when he’s racing along an abandoned highway. Maybe it’s the way he can’t afford focusing on anything but the road in front of him. It calms him.

For a moment he can forget how much of an idiot he is, how he’s allowing his unrequited feelings to colour his every action. But it doesn’t take long for the thoughts to catch up with him. As soon as he gets closer to the city, his mind wanders back to

Bruce is so sharp in picking up on everything, there’s no way he hasn’t noticed, right? But if he noticed something, why hasn’t he said anything? Why hasn’t he kicked Jason out? Guilt? It’s clear that the older man still feels responsible for his death, for not being able to rescue him or find him during those years he spent trying to find his way back home.

_Fuck. That’s it, isn’t it? He’s only putting up with me because he’d feel shitty for telling me to leave._ Jason grits his teeth and brings his bike to a screeching halt. The brakes are working better than before. Alfred’s handiwork he supposes.

_But if he only keeps you around out of guilt, why would he ask you to stay?_ A different, more reasonable voice in his head asks. _He needs you. _

He shakes his head. _He doesn’t need me; he needs someone to be there for him who isn’t Alfred. Anyone would do. It doesn’t have to be me._

Jason spends the rest of the day refamiliarizing himself with Gotham. Not much has changed since he last left. There are a few new buildings, some new power structures between the local gangs. Territories have shifted, new deals have been struck and others broken. Some of his old hideouts have been raided in the meantime. Even though the big picture is no different, somehow Jason feels like he doesn’t fit in the same way anymore.

Sitting next to his favourite gargoyle, he’s looking down onto the busy streets. He wonders where that part of him has gone that used to get so excited about this sight. To be on top of everything, far away from the people who tormented him when he was nothing but a street rat. Back then he felt like he had become something better, someone who mattered. He loved being Robin.

Now, he feels nothing but the ache in his chest, when letting his gaze trail along the skyline. The only thing on his mind is Bruce and he knows that he can’t leave anymore. Not until the other makes him. He’s like a moth and now that he’s gotten in range of the light, he can’t tear himself loose anymore. No matter how bad it gets, he won’t go until Bruce doesn’t need him anymore. It doesn’t matter if he’s replaceable, has never mattered.

_If I do a good job, I’ll be Robin forever!_

He checks in on some informants later and for a little moment he wonders if he should visit Barbara. Jason knows she’s doing alright, knows she’s still Oracle and one of Bruce’s closest allies. But he hasn’t seen her since before Ethiopia, couldn’t bring himself to show her the state he was in, when he came back.

He’s sure that she knows he’s alive, that she’s kept tabs on him the same way Bruce did. But she hasn’t tried to contact him, and he suspects that she was trying to give him the space he needed. A lump forms in his throat at the thought. She used to be his closest friend back in the days. The only he trusted enough to pour out his heart in front of her. The one who didn’t tell him to get over Bruce but also never gave him any false hopes either. Babs always just listened and hugged him, combing her fingers through with a gentle protectiveness that his parents never had.

Sure enough, he finds himself in front of her house, staring up at the window he climbed through so many times when he was still just a teenager. But he can’t bring up the courage to get off his bike. In the end, he leaves; but not without making a promise that he’ll come back another time.

With dusk slowly creeping along the horizon, he heads to the less desirable part of town, one of those that he knows like the palm of his hand. He’s not certain yet what he’s looking for, but he needs to do something, so he can return to Wayne manor with a level head. He doesn’t remember the seedy gay bar at the corner of Lake Street, but he’s not scared of unknown territory.

He stops in the alley just behind the dive, safely hidden in the shadows. With his mask stuffed into his pocket and the helmet tucked under his arm, he’s not even recognizable as the Red Hood. _Good,_ he thinks to himself, _time to be just another low-life fuck wasting his life away in this hellhole. _

The thought almost makes him grin, as he pushes past the few drunken idiots in front of the bar and makes his way inside. It’s full but not crowded and there’s several spots at the counter that aren’t taken yet. Jason doesn’t need to look around to know that none of the people here would ever be considered proper, law abiding citizens.

The young bartender gives him an appraising look, but Jason only responds with a shrug. Not his type. Then again, judging by his history of hook-ups, his type is anyone who bears enough of a resemblance to allow his brain to imagine it’s Bruce who’s fucking him instead.

He slides onto one of the barstools and orders himself the cheapest whisky. Straight. It’s not the taste he’s going for but the punch and the more it has, the better. His fingers are tapping against the worn-out counter, following the rhythm of whatever trashy pop song is playing over the speakers He’s craving a smoke but he doesn’t have any on him, so he’ll have to wait until he can mooch one off someone else.

When the waiter returns with his drink, he empties it in one go and asks for another. This is not the place to sip on a fancy cocktail and bat his eyelashes at a handsome socialite. That would indicate that he’s looking for something sweet, a tumble in soft sheets. What he needs is a rough and quick fuck. And that’s how he’s drinking.

He’s not surprised, when someone sits down next to him, close enough to brush against his arm and clearly invade his space. With the intention of telling the stranger to get lost, Jason looks up, only to find himself caught in the gaze of a startlingly blue eye. With the eyepatch and the messy, white hair, he’s easy to identify. Jason has seen him in Bruce’s files often enough.

Wilson on the other hand doesn’t seem to recognize him; has never encountered him in casual get-up. And the younger man knows that it’s probably a bad idea but instead of telling the other to fuck off or punching him in the face straight away, he hesitates, allowing himself to look him up and down.

“Must be a tough night for you,” Wilson says, and his voice is almost a purr. It’s rougher than Bruce’s, less gentle.

Jason huffs out a breath and sets down his empty glass. “No shit. Ain’t much detective work to do there.”

The older man chuckles and Jason isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol or the knowledge of how dangerous the other is, that sends a spark of electricity along his spine. “Sharp tongue you got there, kid.” Wilson raises his and calls out to the bartender. “Get me a beer. And this one another.”

Jason only acknowledges the free drink with a short nod. His gaze lingers on Wilson’s hands, taking in the calluses and scars. He wonders if they would feel as rough on his skin as Bruce’s look. Wonders if they hold the same restrained strength. “Ain’t the only thing I got,” he mutters, taking another long drink of his whisky.

Wilson’s eye narrows and his lips curl up into a smirk. “You gonna tell me that your mouth can do more than talk shit?”

That makes the younger man grin. He knows how dangerous the game is that he’s playing here, knows how quickly he can get burnt but maybe that’s exactly what makes him interested. Maybe this’ll be enough to forget about his aching heart for a little bit. “You’d be surprised.”

“Takes a lot to surprise me, kid. But I’m not about to say no if you wanna show me.” The suggestion is playful enough to give Jason an out if he wants it and direct enough to be unmistakable.

It’s nothing like the smooth pick-up lines or the gentle presence he imagines, when he’s thinking of Bruce, but he didn’t expect to find anything like that here in the first place. “You gonna make it worth my while?”

Wilson leans in, his hand coming to rest on Jason’s thigh and squeezing it. “I don’t make promises. But I’ve never gotten any complaints before either.”

_To hell with it,_ Jason thinks as he grabs his glass and empties it, slamming a couple bills onto the counter. “Let’s get outta here then. I ain’t got a place.”

The other doesn’t seem surprised or taken aback by his eagerness. He only follows Jason’s example by paying for his drinks and heaving himself up from his chair. “That’s no problem. Mine isn’t far.”

And at this point, Jason doesn’t give a fuck, whether they do it in a bed or against the wall in some dark alley. They both know that this means nothing and there won’t be any strings attached.

Wilson moves with the grace of a hunter, as he leads the way out of the bar, but it’s a different gait from Bruce’s. Bruce keeps his head high and his shoulders squared, something he had to learn for his high society lifestyle and doesn’t fully abandon, when he wears the cape and cowl.

It’s raining, when they get outside, and Jason feels a hint of guilt creep into his mind. It feels like he’s doing something wrong, like he’s betraying Bruce in some way. Which is hilarious, all things considered. Because Bruce doesn’t give a damn about his sex life. And why would he? To him, Jason is nothing but an ex-sidekick, maybe a son in some fucked up way. Hell, he has no fucking clue, what he is to the other.

He feels Wilson against his side, his warmth almost comforting amidst the cold rain. Jason turns, just as the older man grabs his arm, pulling him closer. The only people on the street apart from them are hiding under the extended roofs and aren’t paying attention to anything but themselves.

Not that it matters, he doesn’t particularly care who sees them. He gives in to the pull, finding himself flush against Wilson’s chest. Hot breath fans over his face, as he looks up at the slightly taller man and he can smell the cheap beer. A hand finds his lower back, a gentle pressure forcing him in further. It’s a strength that can easily leave bruises and Jason finds himself helpless to resist because it’s the same force he wishes Bruce would touch him with.

There’s no grace in the way their lips crash, no gentleness in the kiss that is all teeth and tongue. Wilson bites his bottom lip hard enough to sting and Jason grabs his shoulder, unsure if he wants to push him away or keep him in place. The hand in his back wanders, sliding down his spine until it comes to rest on his ass. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see a shadow on one of the rooftops, a looming presence that sends a chill down his spine.

“Jason!” The voice makes him freeze in place, eyes widening as he immediately pulls away from the man who’s still holding him close. 

A gloved hand falls onto his shoulder, its grip forceful and almost too firm. Wilson looks up and his features twist into an expression somewhere between surprise and amusement. “You got interesting friends, kid.”

Bruce is standing so close to him that he can feel his breath on his neck and the sensation makes him shiver involuntarily. It’s obvious that Wilson notices it because his lips pull into a grin. “Batman. I don’t see a reason why you would have to barge in like that. I’m sure my _friend_ can assure you that nothing illegal is going on here.”

“Get. Away. From him.” The Bat’s voice is a growl at this point, his fingers digging into Jason’s shoulder. “I tolerate you on my turf because you’re behaving. Don’t think for one second that I won’t take you in, if you step out of line, Deathstroke.”

For a moment Wilson looks like he’s considering his options, as though he’s unsure whether he wants to continue playing this game. Then, he releases his hold on Jason’s back and raises his hands in a gesture of defeat. “You got it. Who would’ve thought the big Batman is such a cockblock.” His gaze finds Jason’s and he winks. “Let me know if you wanna continue, kid.”

With that, he saunters off, leaving the two of them alone.

The hand lingers on his shoulder, not releasing its grip that certainly is going to leave bruises behind. Jason swallows thickly, trying to ignore the way this contact paired with the alcohol in his blood is sending distinct signals to his lower body. “You can let go now,” he snaps, twisting his body to free himself.

Batman isn’t having any of it. His hand grabs Jason’s upper arm instead, holding him in place. “We’re going home,” he states, and his voice makes it clear that there’s no room for arguments.

Jason doesn’t care. He’s past the point where he listens to Bruce’s every word like it’s the law. He’s been done with taking orders he doesn’t agree with a long time ago. “Fuck you,” he hisses, throwing a punch at the other’s face.

It’s not supposed to hurt him, of course not. It’s just meant to be enough to express that he’s no longer an obedient sidekick. Bruce catches his fist with ease and before he knows it, he’s being forced backwards. His back hits the wall with enough force to push the air out of his lungs, leaving him gasping.

“What the fuck-“ He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, when Bruce is suddenly way too close. He can smell the other, the aftershave he uses and the motor oil from the Batmobile.

Despite the mask it’s all too easy to tell that that the other has anger written all over his face. He lingers for a moment, probably looking him over for any signs of injury. “I don’t mind letting you do whatever you want. But I’m not going to watch as you throw yourself into danger head-first.” His voice has an icy pitch to it, revealing just how pissed Bruce truly is.

Jason swallows thickly, frozen in place by their sudden proximity. It would be too fucking easy to lean in now, just move his head the slightest bit and press their lips together. He wants to taste the anger on Bruce’s tongue and the desire is strong enough to block out any other thought.

Bruce saves him from any stupid mistake he could make, by finally pulling back. His grip on Jason’s arm doesn’t loosen, instead he pulls the younger man with him.

Jason has half a mind to continue resisting but for some reason he doesn’t. He allows the Batman to drag him off like a pickpocket caught in the act.

The Batmobile is parked just a street away and there’s no doubt that Bruce installed a tracker in his bike. Jason expected nothing less, knowing very well that he would’ve done the exact same.

“Get in the car,” Bruce growls and Jason’s eyes narrow. But there’s no arguing with the other, not if he doesn’t want to fight. And honestly, there’s no way he’d win. Not with the alcohol coursing through his veins and his dick throbbing against the confines of his tight leather pants.

He falls into the soft seat and closes his eyes. _Great. _He went out to get rid of some of his pent-up sexual energy and now he ended up with a whole lot more of it instead.

Neither of them talks, as they drive through the falling darkness back towards the manor and Jason tries his hardest not to imagine what else Bruce could push him into a wall for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hnnnghn this took me so much energy to finish because I tried to make it fluent and good and still get Broose to manhandle Jason around because he's big mad without breaking Jason's character 👀


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce opens up about his feelings and Alfred is a good dad.

Bruce drives fast enough for the motor of the Batmobile to shift from its usual gentle purr to a low growl, mirroring the anger Jason can see in the older man’s features despite the mask. He doesn’t look over, stares out of the window instead and into the darkness of the trees flying by. Sure, he knows this is his fault, but he doesn’t know what exactly he’s done. Sure, trying to hook up with Slade motherfucking Wilson might not have been the best idea but it’s not like Bruce to overreact like that.

Then again, nothing of this is like Bruce. Not the Bruce from back then at least. And hell, people change, Jason, especially when everyone around them kind of dies…

Jason pushes the thought aside and watches as they near the gate, the automatic sensors picking up their presence and pulling the steel wings apart. What used to always be a welcoming sight to him when he was still Robin, makes a wave of anxiety wash through him now.

He doesn’t want to face Bruce, doesn’t want to talk about things, especially not about his little venture to get himself laid. But he doubts that the other will just let him walk off without a word. Not with how damn mad he looks right now.

Swallowing thickly, Jason peels himself out of his seat, shoulders slumped as he waits for the inevitable lecture.

But there’s nothing.

When he looks up, Bruce has taken off the cowl and his features bear that same tired sadness that he’s seen there before. If he didn’t know better, he would say that Bruce looks downright defeated. Like he’s ready to just give up. But that’s not something that he does; Batman never backs down!

“Jason-“ Bruce starts and then sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

And – _fuck_ – if this doesn’t hurt more than any lecture could. Jason clenches his fists, looking everywhere but the other’s face. “I know, it was stupid, but I really don’t get why you’re making such a big deal outta it. It’s not like I was gonna become Deathstroke’s _boyfriend_ or something.” Jason has no clue what he’s even saying, he’s just rambling on because he needs to fill the air between them with words or else it will suffocate him.

“I can’t do it, Jason.” Bruce’s voice cuts like a knife into his heart and his eyes widen. This is it: The rejection that he’s been waiting for. Now, the other is going to tell him how disgusted he is by him or how inappropriate his feelings are and that he should leave.

Bruce takes a step closer, reaching out a hand as though to touch him but then lets it fall to his side again. “I-“ he breathes deeply, as though steadying himself for what he’s going to say and Jason can feel the treacherous sting of tears in his eyes.

He shakes his head, turning to leave. “It’s alright B, you don’t have to say anything. I’ll be outta your hair ‘fore you know it.” His voice is cold and if he can’t suppress the tremble in his words then it has nothing to do with the way his heart feels like a stone in his chest. “Tell Al it was nice seein’ him.” The phrase is bitter on his tongue and he can’t seem to swallow around it.

“No, Jason, that’s not what I’m saying.” Another deep breath and then there’s suddenly a hand on his shoulder, warm and heavy. “I can’t do it Jason. I lost you once. I can’t lose you again. I know it’s none of my business what you do, I know you’re free to spend your time with- whoever you please. But if you get hurt again, if I fail you again… I don’t know how I can live with it.”

Jason is frozen in place. Overwhelmed by the feelings that are pushing into his chest, filling him up to the brim with pain, confusion, grief, and love. He never knew how much his death affected Bruce, tried not to think about it too much because he didn’t know if he would like the answer.

And here it is. Bruce is scared. He’s terrified of losing him again and for some reason the idea makes it hard to breathe.

Jason doesn’t know how to handle this. He’s not sure if he should turn around and hug Bruce until his heart has stopped aching or if he should run away and hide somewhere, he can think. He chooses neither option. “’S not so bad, B,” he lies, hands trembling. “Bein’ dead I mean. It’s pretty chill.”

Bruce’s hand tightens on his shoulder, fingers digging into his muscle for the second time that night but with a different intent entirely.

“I can’t imagine what you went through,” the older man starts, and Jason shakes his head. This is not the time to talk about his side of things. Another time, perhaps, but not right now.

He hesitates for a moment, before carefully reaching up and placing his own hand over Bruce’s, the simple touch spreading a gentle warmth through his body. “I need a smoke,” he murmurs, more to himself than the other.

Behind him, he can hear Bruce shift, a rustling of the cape indicating his approach. “Yeah. Alright.”

Jason hums, pulling the pack out of his pocket and slipping one of the cigarettes between his lips. He’s about to reach for his lighter, when Bruce holds out a hand, coveting a little flame sustained by one of his gadgets. “No comment about how I’m not supposed to smoke?”

The man’s mouth twitches, like he’s trying to force a smile but it’s not working out the way he wants to. “If I light it for you, am I as decent a companion as Slade? At least for the moment?”

It’s supposed to be a joke, he knows that, and he also knows that Bruce isn’t talking about the same kind of company that Jason longs for, but the statement makes Jason’s eyes narrow. “How long were you watching us?”

Bruce turns his head, like he doesn’t want to show the expression settling on his face. “I was worried.” It’s the only answer he offers but Jason can guess the true meaning behind it. It doesn’t matter when the other started following him around the city, all that matters is that he did.

Jason focuses on his cigarette, drawing in the smoke like it’s the only lifeline left to him and closing his eyes as he pushes it out past his chapped lips. Only when only the stump is left and his chest feels lighter, does he look at Bruce. Dark blue eyes are lingering on him, almost desperately searching for something in his face but Jason can’t tell what it is.

There are no words on his tongue, nothing to say that could make any of this less fucked.

They’re fucked. That’s probably what it is.

“I never thanked you, y’know. For killing _him._ I- I know it must’ve been hard for you.” He’s been thinking about this one for a long time: How to bring up what Bruce did _in his name._ That Bruce, who would’ve never crossed that line on his own, went ahead and killed someone because they took Jason away from him.

Bruce sighs and he can hear the pain in the older man’s voice. “It wasn’t hard. It was all too easy. I told myself I wouldn’t do it. But when I had him in my hands. He kept laughing and talking about it. I needed him to shut up. I couldn’t. Couldn’t hear him say your name one more time.” The hand on his shoulder tightens its grip instinctively and Jason wishes he had a way to show the other how much he loves him without making everything worse.

He knows Bruce needs him right now and he wants to reach out so badly to embrace the other, hold him close until the world fades away around them. Instead, he lays a hand on the older man’s arm, allowing it to rest there for a moment.

“It’s okay, B.” He echoes the same words that he spoke before. “I ain’t gonna die on you again.” They both know that it’s not a promise he can keep, not with their nighttime activities. But there’s a different promise, one that softens the line in Bruce’s face and draws some of the tension from his shoulders.

There’s a whispered “thank you” and if he feels tears burn on his cheeks, neither of them brings it up.

They stay like this, avoiding eye contact until Jason feels the heavy arms of exhaustion wrap around him. Gently, he allows his hand to fall away from Bruce’s arm, though unwilling to move away. “I- I’m gonna have another and then I’ma head to bed. You can go ahead.”

The older man doesn’t object, brushing against his side, as he leaves and Jason feels his chest tighten, the quieter his steps get. When he finally knows the Batcave to be empty safe for him, he exhales a shaky breath and slumps down onto the floor, resting his back against the passenger side door of the Batmobile.

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing his hand over his face to chase away the wetness. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck._” He pulls out another cigarette, smoking it absent mindedly, as he tries to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to do know.

The scariest part is that he already knows. He knows, he’s ready to return to the position of the eternally pining sidekick if only he can soothe Bruce’s pain His heart doesn’t care if it kills him and his mind has already decided that he’ll pick the painful longing over the sadness in Bruce’s eyes anytime.

* * *

Alfred finds him a couple hours later and he doesn’t mention the strong stench of cigarettes or the redness around his eyes. Instead, he offers the younger man a hand and then guides him over to the desk where he placed a tray with hot chocolate and the exact same cookies he always made when Jason was upset as a teen.

“Oh Al,” Jason sighs, dropping onto the chair and reaching out his hands for the steaming hot mug. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person in the world who understands me.”

The butler clicks his tongue, the same gentle judgement that he always passes upon those he cares for. Like a mother hen chiding its chicks. “I think you will find that master Bruce is putting a great deal of effort into trying. However, it seems he doesn’t quite know how to express it.”

Jason barks out a laugh. “Yeah right, like Bruce was ever good at expressing anything. You’d chop off his foot and it’d take him an hour to figure out how to say “ouch” without showing weakness.”

Alfred gives him a stern look, clearly not particularly amused by the metaphor. “You are not much better yourself, master Jason.”

“I know. But it’s not like I can just walk up to him and tell him, y’know.” He doesn’t add anything else, but he knows that the butler understands. Alfred always does. And Jason is pretty sure that the other is one of the few people, or maybe even the only one, who wouldn’t look down on him, no matter what he did.

Alfred sits down in the second chair and they linger in silence. Where being alone with Bruce makes him antsy and nervous, Alfred’s company has the exact opposite effect. It’s calming. With the hot chocolate and the sugary cookies, Jason can almost pretend that he’s just thirteen again, huddled up in the chair that’s far too big for him and complaining about his math test that he should’ve scored an A in but only got a B+ because the teacher didn’t like him.

By the time he’s finished the plate and the mug is empty, he feels sleepy enough to pass out right there but under Alfred’s watchful eye, he makes his way up the stairs and to his room instead.

When he falls asleep, he dreams of a green sea with churning waves that whisper to him in strange languages of the lost.

* * *

He wakes up about five hours later bathed in sweat. It’s not an unusual occurrence for him at all, even before his untimely death he had nightmares regularly and they always left him shaking and full of nervous energy. Grabbing a pair of shorts, he decides to go for a run. The grounds are large enough to hide anyone from prying eyes and he’s way too hot to bother with a shirt.

Jason only realises that he doesn’t have a pair of running shoes or even sneakers when he’s already at the front door, so he just borrows a pair of Bruce’s. They’re only a little too big for his feet but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed by wearing a second pair of socks. Not exactly the most comfortable option but it’ll do.

The cool morning air feels amazing on his bare skin and he breathes deeply, enjoying the way his arms break out into goosebumps at the temperature difference. Instinctively, he throws a glance at the balcony belonging to the master bedroom but in the twilight of dawn it’s impossible to make out any movement and there’s no light emanating from inside. Bruce is probably still asleep, he thinks, secretly hoping that the other isn’t being haunted by his own night terrors right now.

His round takes him along the path circling the estate and towards the woods, where uncounted more miles of land belong to the Wayne family lay. He knows that Bruce set up a few emergency shelters and weapons caches somewhere in the forest grounds, he’s broken into a few himself before to stock up and rest, when he was last in Gotham.

Jason follows a narrow path through the woods, towards the lake with its beautiful little lake house and the paddleboat they took out a couple times, when he was young. There’s a small tunnel at the ground of the lake that connects to an emergency exit for the Batcave – or entrance, depending on which way one looks at it. He’s not sure if it has ever actually been used but there’s always a time for anything. If there is one thing that Bruce is, it’s thorough.

For a moment he contemplates taking a swim but the thought of diving headfirst into ice cold water isn’t all too appealing, so he figures, he’ll just seek out the heated pool later. Maybe he should take a couple days to just exercise, make his thoughts focus on nothing but physical exertion. Yeah, as if that ever worked.

He makes his way back towards the more cultivated part of the estate and goes for a sprint, making sure to work up a proper sweat before he reaches the manor. Out of breath and with the cold finally seeping into his skin, he hurries up the front stairs and to the door. He doesn’t even have to knock – seriously, sometimes he suspects Alfred to be a psychic – before the door swings open and he’s faced with the butler who eyes his attire with an expression of displeasure.

“You will find that there is a hot bath waiting for you upstairs. I assume I will not have to educate you on the importance of clothing, master Jason?”

Jason rolls his eyes, as he brushes past Alfred, tiptoeing so he doesn’t spread any unnecessary dirt over the clean floor. “I know, I know.”

The butler is clearly not impressed by his response, his sharp eyes not missing the borrowed shoes. “I will ensure that your wardrobe is outfitted according to your needs. Please do let me know, if there is anything else you are missing.”

Jason hesitates because on one hand he doesn’t want to admit that he’s going to stay for a while and on the other hand he doesn’t know if Bruce isn’t going to kick him out at some point after all and he doesn’t want to make Alfred go shopping for things he’s not going to need in the end. Then, after a moment, he grins. _Fuck it._ “Will do, Al. Now about that bath…”

Alfred only shoos him up the stairs in response and he throws a “thank you” over his shoulder as goes.

Soaking in the hot water, he finds himself wishing for a glass of red wine and a good book. He misses his days spent in the library, the little book club Alfred and he had set up to discuss whatever caught their fancy at the time and the quiet evenings when Bruce would just sit next to him on the couch and they’d just read. There’s a lot of things he misses, and he figures, he’s going to have a lot of catching up to do while he’s here. He wonders if the stack of comic books he hid in a nook at the back of the library is still there or if Alfred decided to finally clean it out.

The sound of footfalls in the hallway reaches his ears, and he instinctively recognizes them as Bruce’s. The man comes to a halt in front of the bathroom door and Jason is half expecting him to just keep walking after a moment. But instead, the other simply says: “Breakfast is ready.” With that, the footsteps make their way down the hallway and disappear out of earshot.

With a sigh, Jason heaves himself out of the tub and drains the water, while he rubs one of those ridiculously fluffy towels over his skin. This time, he throws on one of the guest bathrobes before stepping out into the hallway – and honestly, if that doesn’t identify Bruce as a rich kid then he doesn’t know what does, who the fuck else has bathrobes for guests? They’re really nice ones too.

Hair still dripping, he shuffles to his room to throw on some clothes before making his way down to the kitchen. The smell of coffee draws him in like a siren song and when he reaches the doorway, he’s greeted by the glorious sight of pancakes, bacon and eggs. Sunny side up and with toast, just the way he likes it.

Bruce is, as always, already buried in his newspaper with the finger tapping the side of his coffee mug being the only sign that he didn’t just fall asleep in his chair or something. Jason doesn’t pay him any attention, instead gives Alfred a thumbs-up and practically throws himself onto the chair that gives a miserable creak in return.

He’s almost waiting for Bruce to make a comment, but he only catches a glimpse of a raised eyebrow over a folded newspaper page. “Man, B, you need to eat more,” he says between two forkfuls of bacon, more to get a reaction out of the other than anything else. It earns him a hum in return and after a moment, Bruce finally folds his paper and places it near the edge of the table.

Jason immediately regrets speaking up because now he’s in the focus of those blue eyes that seem to pierce straight into his soul. He swallows thickly and bows his head, inspecting the texture of his pancakes very closely, while he continues to shove food into his mouth.

“What do you want to do today, Jay?” Bruce asks and Jason finds himself startled into looking up and right at that glorious little smile that curls around the other’s lips and that fills his stomach with butterflies. _Fuck._ “I cleared my schedule at work because I thought you might like to do something together.”

The older man sounds so warm and sincere that it makes Jason’s chest ache and the pancake suddenly tastes almost too sweet on his tongue. “Ah-“ he doesn’t know how to respond. He can’t recall the last time that Bruce actually took off work to spend time with him before he died, and he definitely didn’t expect anything of the sort now. Yet, there’s not a single part of him that wants to decline the offer.

Bruce sips at his coffee with that questioning look that leaves Jason witless and scrambling for an answer. Finally, he seems to take pity on him: “There’s an art exhibition at the Gotham museum if you’re interested. I heard it’s very popular amongst the college crowd.”

That makes Jason chuckle. “You sound like a clueless dad trying to figure out what young people these days are up to.”

The older man’s lips twitch, clearly amused. “Well, I always offered that you could call me “dad” if you wanted to.”

The statement leaves Jason’s mouth dry. It’s obviously just a joke, a reference to Jason’s habit of calling him “B” ever since he grew comfortable enough around the man. But still, his dirty mind immediately conjures up a wholly different set of images:

Bruce pushing him into the wall, lips pressed against his ears: “What do you want,” he growls and his deep voice sends shivers down Jason’s spine.

“Fuck me, _daddy_,” he pleads in return and Bruce responds by biting his neck and grinding their hips together.

“Again,” he demands, and Jason obeys immediately.

“Please, daddy, please I need you now. _Daddy, please.” _

Jason coughs on his pancake bite and nearly falls of his chair, his face burning hot and he hurries to down the glass of orange juice. He doesn’t notice the narrowing of Bruce’s eyes or the way, the other’s fingers tighten their hold on his fork for a moment. He’s too busy trying to push his imagination to the very back of his mind.

“Yeah, no. Never gonna happen, B. About that exhibition tho-“ he hurries to change the topic, unable to meet Bruce’s gaze. “Sounds good. They better not have any Picasso; I still think he’s completely overrated.”

And if he babbles on for a little longer than necessary, detailing what little he knows about art in order to give his mind something more innocent to focus on, Bruce doesn’t seem to notice or care. Instead, the other listens with that same attentiveness, he’s always given him, when he was younger. It’s another trick he probably learned for his high society etiquette. He makes people feel validated and interesting just by listening and asking smart questions at just the right moments to indicate that he’s actually following.

It’s the first time in a while that he’s actually putting effort into his appearance and Jason has no clue how to dress up for a date anymore. Not that this is a date because it’s definitely not! Hell, the last time he’s been on an actual date was at least a year before he got murdered and he’s pretty sure fashion has changed a little since then.

He pulls at the hem of his long-sleeved shirt. The dark red looks good on him he thinks, and he likes the way that it fits him. Sure, it’s not specifically made for his measurements like all of Bruce’s clothes are, but Alfred has still managed to get the sizes almost perfectly. Jason is certain that if he stays longer, the butler will end up taking his measurements sooner or later.

A knock on the door pulls him out of his thoughts and he hurries to button his jeans and run a hand through his hair. It’s still a mess but he doesn’t have the patience to style it. For a moment he considers going full out and grabbing the eyeliner, but he discards the thought quickly. That fits more into a nightclub than the museum. Not that Bruce would ever go to one of those with him. The thought of his former mentor trying to fit in on the dance floor makes him snort. Bruce may be good when it comes to formal dances, but Jason is pretty sure he’s never danced to modern music in his life.

That alone almost makes it worth trying to make it happen. He’s certain Dick would tip him generously if he delivered the footage afterwards.

“Jason?” Bruce doesn’t sound impatient but there’s a strange tone to his voice that has Jason grab a light jacket and hurry to the door with one last glance at the mirror.

Bruce looks good. No surprise there, he always looks good, no matter what he wears. But with his perfectly fitting dress pants, the shirt with the top buttons undone and the jacket thrown over his shoulder he looks like the kind of model they hire to promote yacht clubs. He’s clean shaven, his eyes as piercing as ever despite the rimless glasses he’s donned – Jason isn’t sure if they’re just for style or if they’re supposed to provide somewhat of a disguise. They kind of make him even hotter. Like the teacher you get in high school that you can’t stop thinking about until you’re well into adulthood. Not that Jason ever had much of a teacher crush, he was too busy dreaming about a certain someone.

“Are you ready?” The other asks, and Jason clears his throat, pushing his hands into his pockets with a shrug.

It’s hard not to lean in to catch a whiff of his cologne, so he hurries to push past Bruce towards the stairs. “Sure. Let’s get going. Else we’re gonna end up late for dinner and Al’s gonna be mad.”

Bruce chuckles behind him. “I already let Alfred know that we’ll be staying out for dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like how this chapter started out with ANGSTPAINHURT and then went to "oh let's go on a date" which is totally not a date. Does this make any sense? That's for you to decide.
> 
> Also: Jason Todd doesn't wear skinny jeans but every jeans his size are skinny jeans because of his thicc thighs 👀


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's totally not a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear i'll proofread this within the next days it's late and i have about 6 hours before i need to get up for work.... bear with me for now OTL

The driver is already waiting with the car in the driveway and Jason feels strangely nervous climbing into the backseat. Bruce is so close, it would only take a little shifting for their knees to be touching and there’s no way to escape the tempting scent of his aftershave now. And looking at Bruce’s profile is no less tempting than letting his eyes rest on the other’s chests or the muscular thighs accentuated so nicely by his dress pants.

Jason swallows thickly and hurries to turn his head to stare out of the window instead. It’s not a date, he reminds himself. Even if Bruce takes him out to dinner, doesn’t mean that he has anything else in mind other than catching up with his previously dead ward. Because Bruce takes lots of people out to dinner, right? Business partners, reporters, hot actresses and actors he wants to hook up with.

The last part makes his cheeks only feel even warmer than before. Partly with jealousy and partly because, hell, of course he’d love to be in the shoes of one of those people Bruce takes on a _real_ date. Fuck, he just knows that the older man is one of those terribly romantic guys who seduce you between candlelight, red wine and roses. And what wouldn’t Jason give for just an evening that allows his own closeted romantic to thrive.

They’re just pulling out of the main gates, when he can feel Bruce’s gaze linger on him. “What?” he turns, trying his best to make his voice sound annoyed.

The other man only raises an eyebrow. “Seat belt, Jason.”

Jason rolls his eyes in return. “_Really?_ We fight giant alien monsters that can zap us out of existence with a look and you’re worried about me wearing a seat belt?”

Bruce gives him that look that is entirely too gentle and caring to not make his chest feel like it’s about to explode. “Just because we face a lot of danger doesn’t mean that you have to tempt fate. More people die in traffic accidents than from bullet wounds every year.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jason waves a hand. And he’s not even planning to disobey just to mess with Bruce but before he can even reach up to grab the seat belt, Bruce is already leaning over him.

His mouth goes dry at the sudden proximity, Bruce’s chest pressed against his shoulder and their faces all too close. Jason’s holds his breath, as the other’s arm sneaks around him to reach for the seat belt and _fuck_ how is he supposed to keep his composure like this?

And then Bruce looks up with those expressive blue eyes of his, Jason’s lips feel strange. If the other would lean in just a little more…

The click of the seat belt fastening tears him out of his trance, and he turns his head quickly because he doesn’t want Bruce to see how red his face probably is. He hears the other shift and then the warmth of Bruce’s chest is gone from where it was pressed against him.

They spend the next minutes cast in silence, mostly because Jason can’t trust his voice and his heart is hammering in his chest like it’s trying to break free of his ribs. He pulls out his phone and pretends to be reading through the information on the exhibition while he’s secretly sneaking glances at his companion.

If Bruce wasn’t always a fashion icon, he could pretend that the other dressed up just for him. That he spent the same time in front of the mirror messing with his shirt and wondering if he looks just the right amount of dressed up and relaxed. And Jason tries his hardest to reign in his imagination that pictures him climbing onto Bruce’s lap right here in the car and pressing their bodies together as closely as he can. He wants to mess up that perfectly styled hair with his fingers while sucking on the other’s bottom lip, grinding his hips down.

“Jason?” _Fuck._ Bruce’s voice is smooth like a lover’s touch on his skin and he has to bite his tongue to fight off the sound that threatens to escape his throat. He crosses his legs, glad that his fantasy alone isn’t enough to give him a boner already and leans back in his seat, focusing on everything and anything that isn’t the man sitting next to him. When, the fuck, did he get so desperate? Oh yeah, probably over the years of pining.

“What is it, old man?” He asks and he immediately hates himself for the way his voice sounds. _Get it together, you’re not some teenager out on his first date._

His companion only gives him a smile that is both sweet and mischievous at the same time. “We’re here. Or are you waiting for me to get the door for you?”

Jason huffs out a breath and flips the other off, before pushing open the car door. He definitely doesn’t want to imagine Bruce treating him like an old timey gentleman – holding open the door, giving him his coat and bridal-style carrying him over obstacles in the way. Not one bit.

He steps onto the pedestrian walk and Bruce is by his side in an instant, close enough that their arms brush every now and then but without any outright touching. Nevertheless, Jason can feel the butterflies in his stomach, as they climb the stairs up to the museum’s entrance.

It gets worse, once they make their way to the ticket booth and the place is far more crowded than it has any business to be on a Thursday before noon. Don’t people have school anymore these days, he wonders quietly, as Bruce hands him a guidebook with a glossy cover.

He absentmindedly flips through the pages, as they make their way through the large entrance hall, past groups of people surrounding chatty exhibition guides. And Jason is glad that his companion didn’t think it necessary to get a tour for them as well, or maybe he just knows how much nicer it is, to look at this kind of stuff in silence and at your own pace. He glances at the map and opens his mouth to tell Bruce which room they should check out first when someone bumps into him from behind and he’s sent stumbling forward.

The curse falls from his lips, just as an arm wraps around his waist and he’s pulled flush against a warm body. “Careful,” Bruce murmurs and the word makes the hairs at the back of his neck stand up.

Jason ducks his head and quickly untangles himself from the protective hold. “I was fine.” He turns, sharply eyeing the people around them to figure out who dared to run into him like that. But no one sticks out in particular and he can still feel Bruce’s gaze resting on him, so he clears his throat and marches off.

The older man follows him without another word. He can’t be sure but Jason wonders if Bruce is even looking at the artwork because every time he looks up, the other shifts, as though pretending to pay close attention to the paintings. There’s a thoughtful expression lingering on those handsome features.

It doesn’t take very long until he’s too captured by the art, amazed by the talent and patience some people have. He reads through each description carefully, soaking up the information like a sponge, though he’s pretty sure he’ll never find a practical application for the knowledge he’s gaining today. But he likes it. As much as he’s a fan of guns and crime fighting and well laid out plans to take down drug rings, in another world he’d probably be two PhD’s into studying literature and art. It’s a passion he rarely gets to indulge these days and while he won’t tell Bruce about that, he’s truly grateful the other suggested this little non-date of theirs. Though he wonders if the other is actually interested in this kind of stuff or if he’s only going along with it because he knows how much Jason enjoys it.

Somehow time flies while they’re moving from one elaborate painting to the next. Jason only realises that it’s way past lunch time already, when his stomach begins to complain and a glance at his phone reveals just how long they’ve been here already.

There’s only one more room left, so he figures that they can always go for lunch afterwards. When he turns around to check on Bruce however, he finds the other staring down at his phone with a frown on his handsome face.

“B?” he asks quietly, not to attract any attention from the other visitors around them. “Everything okay? We gotta go?”

The older man looks up, as though pulled from a deep thought and shakes his head. “It’s nothing that the police can’t handle. It’s our day off, remember?”

Jason cocks his head, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. “When has that ever stopped us from jumping straight back into action? If I recall correctly that one time when we went ice-skating…”

He doesn’t have to finish his sentence because he knows that Bruce remembers perfectly well how their fun had been interrupted by someone literally blowing up the building next to the ice-rink. And Jason broke his ankle trying to stalk his way to somewhere where he could safely change into his Robin costume.

“I had to carry you all the way back to the car and you were complaining the whole time,” the other remarks, which only makes a grin spread over Jason’s lips.

“Well, I had the right to complain, I was missing out on the school marathon because of it. And you know, I woulda made first place.” He doesn’t add that it was the last school event before his death that he missed that week but from the way, Bruce’s expression darkens for a moment, he can tell that the older man is thinking it anyway.

_Great, way to ruin the mood. _Instinctively, he reaches for the other’s arm and drags him towards the next room. “C’mon old man. I’m starving and I’m sure as hell not gonna miss out on Rubens.”

To his surprise, Bruce goes along with it without saying anything in return and if Jason holds onto his arm for a little longer than necessary, then it’s definitely only because they have to maneuver around a group of Korean tourists in an especially crowded part of the hallway.

They’ve just finished their round along the walls of the exhibition’s last room, when someone grabs his arm from behind. Flinching away instinctively, Jason bumps into Bruce, whose hands are on his shoulders immediately.

“What the-“ his muscles tense, as he turns, body shifting into a combat-ready stance before his brain can even catch up with the situation. But instead of a Russian mobster or some other villain who’s managed to not only figure out who the Red Hood is, but also track him down all the way here… he finds himself face to face with the brightest grin he has ever seen.

Tousled, dark hair falling into a beautifully cut face, barely avoiding the brilliant baby-blues that are clearly sparkling with emotion. “Little wing!”

For a moment, Jason just stares, unable to figure out how he’s supposed to react in this situation. Dick Grayson, former Robin and now Nightwing, the cheerful but capable protector of Bludhaven. The other hasn’t changed one bit since Jason last saw him in person. Though now the other isn’t taller than him anymore and he can practically feel his younger self let out a triumphant “whoop” at the few centimetres that he has on the other ex-sidekick.

“Wow, it’s been forever. I didn’t know you were back in Gotham, no one told me-“ he glances up at Bruce at the last part and his expression hardens. “I thought _someone_ would let me know.”

Jason can feel the grip of Bruce’s hands tighten on his shoulders and he doesn’t have to turn to know just what look his former mentor is giving Dick.

He swallows thickly, feeling entirely overwhelmed by the situation. And that is a state his brain can’t handle very well these days. It makes little tendrils of panic slither into his mind and his fingers tremble. “I-“ _Fuck._ It’s not like he’s not happy to see Dick because he is. He just hasn’t had the time to come up with a plan for what to say when he does. Between Bruce’s presence behind him and Dick’s expecting look, he feels his chest tighten uncomfortably.

“I gotta go-“ he finally gets out through gritted teeth, before he ducks his head and brushes past Bruce to flee the scene.

Jason doesn’t even notice how much his heart is racing in his chest until he’s hurrying down the steps at the front entrance of the museum and stumbling onto the pedestrian walk. He clenches his fists, forcing himself to breathe evenly. _Nice going, Todd. So much for that date… _And honestly, he’s not blaming Dick one bit for this. He’s just utterly disgusted by how fucking weak he is. Who the fuck panics over meeting an old friend?

Cursing himself inwardly, he realises that he has no clue what to do now. On one hand, he’s low key terrified of heading back inside or even waiting here for the other two to join him. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to run away again. He’s done that all too often and while it usually helps him calm down, it only postpones the moment when he’ll have to face the dragon.

With a deep breath, he steels himself and turns around, ready to go for round two.

“Jay.” Bruce’s voice wraps around his shoulders like a safety blanket and he looks up to find the older man descending the stairs towards him. To Jason’s surprise, he’s alone.

He breathes a sigh of relief that makes him feel like a total asshole before asking: “Where’s Dick?”

Bruce holds out a hand with the guidebook that Jason must’ve dropped in his hurry. “He decided it’s best to give you some space. He’ll be coming over for dinner sometime this week. Though he made it very clear that he’s there to see Alfred and you, and not me.”

The last part makes a small smile curl around Jason’s lips and he accepts the booklet, trying not to show his appreciation too much. “Thanks,” he murmurs and they both know that he’s not talking about the brochure.

They linger for a moment until he can feel his stomach complain but if he’s honest, he’s lost all desire to spend any more time around the city. Instead, the idea of curling up on the couch with a huge bucket of popcorn and a movie is getting more tempting by the second.

“Hey B-“ he starts and then immediately hesitates because how the fuck is he supposed to tell Bruce that his fucked up brain can’t handle being around people? If the man gives him one of those sad and sympathetic looks, he’s going to take the next plane to Siberia and never show is face around here again… Then again, he figures that it’s probably better to just say it out right. After all he’s the one to complain to Al about Bruce’s lack of proper communication.

He doesn’t meet the other’s gaze, when he speaks because he doesn’t want to see his expression. _I’m bored. I changed my mind._ But instead of making up some excuse, he squares his shoulders and says: “I dunno if I can stand any more… people.” It’s as honest as he can manage but it’s something, he supposes.

There’s no awkward pause, no “I’m sorry” or any of the things he dreaded. Instead, he hears Bruce shift and then the gentle tapping of his finger on the screen of his phone. “Take out and snacks?”

The question takes him by surprise and Jason looks up instinctively, finding himself caught in a warm smile that looks so right on the other’s features. _Here’s to anyone who thinks Batman never smiles_. And that thought gives him a strange sense of pride and possessiveness. Yeah, maybe a tiny part of him wants to keep that smile all to himself.

“Sounds good,” he agrees but honestly, it sounds _amazing._ “You got Netflix, right?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow and gives him a look that clearly translates to “really?” and he raises his hands defensively. “Yeah, yeah. Stupid me, of course our billionaire has Netflix. You probably got Hulu and Disney Plus too, don’t you?”

The other doesn’t reply, instead he phones the driver and pulls up the app to put in their take-out order. “What do you want?”

About fifteen minutes later, they’re back in the car with a small mountain of snacks between them – they couldn’t agree on what to get, so they got a spread of different things instead – and a plastic bag with their take-out on Jason’s lap. The smell of the Vietnamese food is heavenly and his stomach rumbles in anticipation.

His brain slowly calms down, now that they are no longer surrounded by people and he forces himself not to think about how _weak_ and _fragile_ he is. Jason is grateful that Bruce doesn’t mention the way his hands were trembling only moments ago or the stains of sweat darkening his shirt.

They don’t talk and this time the silence is comforting. It allows him to close his eyes and lean back. There’s something about Bruce’s presence that allows him to relax, as though his subconscious knows that the other will protect him at all cost and it drowns out the nervous paranoia. It makes him wonder if sleeping with Bruce would also keep the nightmares at bay.

Jason only realises that he’s dozed off, when a gentle hand touches his shoulder. When he opens his eyes, he’s greeted by a gentle smile that fills his chest with warmth. “We’re home,” the other says and for some reason it feels so right.

“Yeah, he mumbles and pushes the take-out bag towards the other, before gathering up the snacks and piling them up in his arms. He’s just about to figure out, how to open the car door without dropping any of his precious cargo – the thought of doing that _before_ picking up all the stuff, somehow didn’t cross his mind – when Bruce opens it for him from the outside.

Jason climbs out of the car and grumbles something along the lines of “I had that,” which only earns him a raised eyebrow from the older man that looks awfully affectionate. Like the way you would look at a stubborn puppy or something. Which is definitely not a comparison he is making about himself here.

He’s surprised to find that Alfred isn’t greeting them at the door, and he hurries to follow Bruce inside, kicking off his shoes and balancing his armful of snacks towards the kitchen. “Where’s Al?”

“He said he had some errands to run. Maybe getting some shopping done.” The older man moves to place the take-out bag on the kitchen counter. “How civilized do you want to be? Plates and bowls or containers?”

Jason tilts his head in thought for a moment, before he grins. “Al isn’t here to complain about the lack of proper etiquette.”

Bruce nods, his gaze all too gentle in a way that makes this moment way more intimate and domestic than necessary. “I suppose we’ll have to make use of this rare opportunity.” He grabbed the containers out of the bag and handed three of them to Jason, along with a pair of chopsticks. “Do you know what you want to watch?”

Jason hums, leading the way over to the living room. “’Course. And if I hear a word of complaint, you’re in trouble, old man!”

It’s an unnecessary threat. Bruce never complained about Jason’s choice of movies or shows, no matter how often he was forced to re-watch Pride and Prejudice or whatever other period drama Jason was currently obsessed with.

Placing his food on the low coffee table, Jason snatches the remote and begins to sift through the choice of series until he finds what he is looking for. “Love, betrayal, redemption and questionable historical accuracy, this one has it all,” he announces before throwing himself onto the couch. “Believe me, you’re gonna love it.”

With a lot more grace, Bruce sits down next to him and Jason has to focus on not staring at the way his relaxed posture makes the partly unbuttoned shirt slide along that muscular chest. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Mhmm…” Swallowing thickly, Jason presses play and hurries to reach for his food. He’s very grateful that the drama on the screen is captivating enough to make for a decent distraction from the handsome man at his side.


End file.
